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Don't sacrifice your political convictions for the convenience of the hour.

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The Sacrifice Of Victor

What is sacrifice?
(we s... we s... we s... we sacrifice)
Npg in mass attack, sonny, please.
(we sacrifice)
Church if u will, please turn 2 the book of victor (we s, we s)
We like 2 start at the top if u dont mind
(we sacrifice)
(dont say it, preacher)
I was born on a blood stained table
Cord wrapped around my neck
Epilectic til the age of 7
I was sure heaven marked the deck
(we sacrifice)
I know joy lives round the corner
{joy for sale down on the corner} (we sacrifice)
One day Ill visit her Im gonna
{out on my block Im just a loner} (we sacrifice)
When she tell me everything {tell me}
Thats when the angels sing {sacrifice}
Thats when the victory is sho nuff {sho nuff down with the sacrifice}
(we sacrifice)
(help me)
(dont say it, preacher)
Mama held up her baby 4 protection
From a man with a strap in his hand
Ask the victor bout pain and rejection
U think he dont when he do understand
(we sacrifice)
I know joy lives round the corner
{joy for sale down on the corner} (we sacrifice)
One day Ill visit her Im gonna
{out on my block Im just a loner} (we sacrifice)
When she tell me everything {tell me}
Thats when the angels sing {sacrifice}
Thats when the victory is sho nuff {sho nuff down with the sacrifice}
(we sacrifice)
(help me)
{s.a.c.r.i.f.i.c.e}
(we-we-we sacrifice)
(dont say it preacher)
(sac-sacrifice)
(we-we-we sacrifice)
(we-we-we sacrifice)
(sacrifice... if u turn the page)
(dont say it, preacher)
1967 in a bus marked public schools
Rode me and a group of unsuspecting political tools
Our parents wondered what it was like 2 have another color near
So they put their babies together 2 eliminate the fear
We sacrifice yes we did

[...] Read more

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(No More) Love At Your Convenience

Your childish game is over now.
Lost your power over night some how.
Better see it ain't gonna be like it used to be.
No more love at your convenience.
No more love at your command.
No more love at your convenience.
Lots of time late at night, I really needed you.
I'm telling you tonight's the night.
Close your mouth
Turn off the light.
Pull me babe.
Pull me down closer on you.
No more love at your convenience.
No more love at your command.
No more love at your convenience.
Lots of time late at night, I really needed you.
I really needed you.
I really needed you.
No more love at your convenience.
No more love at your command.
No more love at your convenience.
Quit your tears and dry your eyes.
You know I hate to see you cry.
Don't you see,
Things gotta be what they got to.
No more love at your convenience.
No more love at your convenience.
No more love at your convenience.
No more love at your convenience.
No more love at your convenience.
No more love at your convenience

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Eden bower

It was Lilith the wife of Adam:
(Sing Eden Bower!)
Not a drop of her blood was human,
But she was made like a soft sweet woman.
Lilith stood on the skirts of Eden;
(Alas the hour!)
She was the first that thence was driven;
With her was hell and with Eve was heaven.
In the ear of the Snake said Lilith:—
(Sing Eden Bower!)
“To thee I come when the rest is over;
A snake was I when thou wast my lover.
“I was the fairest snake in Eden:
(Alas the hour!)
By the earth's will, new form and feature
Made me a wife for the earth's new creature.
“Take me thou as I come from Adam:
(Sing Eden Bower!)
Once again shall my love subdue thee;
The past is past and I am come to thee.
“O but Adam was thrall to Lilith!
(Alas the hour!)
All the threads of my hair are golden,
And there in a net his heart was holden.
“O and Lilith was queen of Adam!
(Sing Eden Bower!)
All the day and the night together
My breath could shake his soul like a feather.
“What great joys had Adam and Lilith!—
(Alas the hour!)
Sweet close rings of the serpent's twining,
As heart in heart lay sighing and pining.
“What bright babes had Lilith and Adam!
(Sing Eden Bower!)
Shapes that coiled in the woods and waters,
Glittering sons and radiant daughters.
“O thou God, the Lord God of Eden!
(Alas the hour!)
Say, was this fair body for no man,
That of Adam's flesh thou mak'st him a woman?
“O thou Snake, the King-snake of Eden!
(Sing Eden Bower!)
God's strong will our necks are under,
But thou and I may cleave it in sunder.
“Help, sweet Snake, sweet lover of Lilith!
(Alas the hour!)
And let God learn how I loved and hated
Man in the image of God created.
“Help me once against Eve and Adam!
(Sing Eden Bower!)

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The Dream

'TWAS summer eve; the changeful beams still play'd
On the fir-bark and through the beechen shade;
Still with soft crimson glow'd each floating cloud;
Still the stream glitter'd where the willow bow'd;
Still the pale moon sate silent and alone,
Nor yet the stars had rallied round her throne;
Those diamond courtiers, who, while yet the West
Wears the red shield above his dying breast,
Dare not assume the loss they all desire,
Nor pay their homage to the fainter fire,
But wait in trembling till the Sun's fair light
Fading, shall leave them free to welcome Night!

So when some Chief, whose name through realms afar
Was still the watchword of succesful war,
Met by the fatal hour which waits for all,
Is, on the field he rallied, forced to fall,
The conquerors pause to watch his parting breath,
Awed by the terrors of that mighty death;
Nor dare the meed of victory to claim,
Nor lift the standard to a meaner name,
Till every spark of soul hath ebb'd away,
And leaves what was a hero, common clay.

Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting Heaven with Earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and rumning streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams;
Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet
Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet,
Who, slow returning from his task of toil,
Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil,
And, tho' such radliance round him brightly glows,
Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Still as his heart forestals his weary pace,
Fondly he dreams of each familiar face,
Recalls the treasures of his narrow life,
His rosy children, and his sunburnt wife,

To whom his coming is the chief event
Of simple days in cheerful labour spent.
The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past,
And those poor cottagers have only cast
One careless glance on all that show of pride,
Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside;
But him they wait for, him they welcome home,
Fond sentinels look forth to see him come;
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy,

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The Loves of the Angels

'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest

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The Forest Sanctuary - Part I.

I.
The voices of my home!-I hear them still!
They have been with me through the dreamy night-
The blessed household voices, wont to fill
My heart's clear depths with unalloy'd delight!
I hear them still, unchang'd:-though some from earth
Are music parted, and the tones of mirth-
Wild, silvery tones, that rang through days more bright!
Have died in others,-yet to me they come,
Singing of boyhood back-the voices of my home!

II.
They call me through this hush of woods, reposing
In the grey stillness of the summer morn,
They wander by when heavy flowers are closing,
And thoughts grow deep, and winds and stars are born;
Ev'n as a fount's remember'd gushings burst
On the parch'd traveller in his hour of thirst,
E'en thus they haunt me with sweet sounds, till worn
By quenchless longings, to my soul I say-
Oh! for the dove's swift wings, that I might flee away,

III.
And find mine ark!-yet whither?-I must bear
A yearning heart within me to the grave.
I am of those o'er whom a breath of air-
Just darkening in its course the lake's bright wave,
And sighing through the feathery canes -hath power
To call up shadows, in the silent hour,
From the dim past, as from a wizard's cave!-
So must it be!-These skies above me spread,
Are they my own soft skies?-Ye rest not here, my dead!

IV.
Ye far amidst the southern flowers lie sleeping,
Your graves all smiling in the sunshine clear,
Save one!-a blue, lone, distant main is sweeping
High o'er one gentle head-ye rest not here!-
'Tis not the olive, with a whisper swaying,
Not thy low ripplings, glassy water, playing
Through my own chesnut groves, which fill mine ear;
But the faint echoes in my breast that dwell,
And for their birth-place moan, as moans the ocean-shell.

V.
Peace!-I will dash these fond regrets to earth,
Ev'n as an eagle shakes the cumbering rain
From his strong pinion. Thou that gav'st me birth,
And lineage, and once home,-my native Spain!
My own bright land-my father's land-my child's!

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Political World

We live in a political world
Where love dont have any place
Were living in times where men commit crimes
And crime dont have a face
We live in a political world
Icicles hangin down
Wedding bells ring and angels sing
And clouds cover up the ground
We live in a political world
Wisdom is thrown into jail
It rots in a cell misguided as hell
Leaving no one to pick up the trail
We live in a political world
Where mercy walks the plank
Life is in mirrors, death disappears
Up the steps into the nearest bank
We live in a political world
Courage is a thing of the past
Houses are haunted, children arent wanted
Your next day could be your last
We live in a political world
The one we can see and feel
But theres no one to check, its all a stacked deck
We all know for sure that its real
We live in a political world
The cities are a lonesome fear
Little by little, you turn in the middle
Youre never sure why youre here
We live in a political world
Under the microscope
You could travel anywhere and hang yourself there
Youve always got more than enough rope
We live in a political world
Turning and a-thrashing about
As soon as youre awake youre trained to take
What looks like the easy way out
We live in a political world
Where peace is not welcome at all
Its turned away from the door to wander some more
Or put up against the wall
We live in a political world
Everythings hers and his
Climb into the flame and shout gods name
But youre not even sure what it is

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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems

SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III

The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems


March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan

Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.

Sincerely,

George W. Bush


SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III


Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.

They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.

The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.

They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.

The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.

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Wislawa Szymborska

Children of Our Age

We are children of our age,
it's a political age.

All day long, all through the night,
all affairs--yours, ours, theirs--
are political affairs.

Whether you like it or not,
your genes have a political past,
your skin, a political cast,
your eyes, a political slant.

Whatever you say reverberates,
whatever you don't say speaks for itself.
So either way you're talking politics.

Even when you take to the woods,
you're taking political steps
on political grounds.

Apolitical poems are also political,
and above us shines a moon
no longer purely lunar.
To be or not to be, that is the question.
And though it troubles the digestion
it's a question, as always, of politics.

To acquire a political meaning
you don't even have to be human.
Raw material will do,
or protein feed, or crude oil,

or a conference table whose shape
was quarreled over for months;
Should we arbitrate life and death
at a round table or a square one?

Meanwhile, people perished,
animals died,
houses burned,
and the fields ran wild
just as in times immemorial
and less political.

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Sacrifice Yourself

Some days he feels so empty
Just a talking head
Married to a klingon
Who could cream him in the press
God could detonate him
Gods the one we pick to curse us
And 25 years pass him
Like an evening at the circus
Dont sacrifice yourself
Dont sacrifice yourself
Surprise yourself
Dont sacrifice yourself
Dont sacrifice yourself
Dont sacrifice yourself
There it is, the look, the winner you
Once talked of being
Give her one last kiss and
Dive right out the window screaming
No truth decent, it was summer from the waist down
She blew the troops right off your feet
She tells you shes gods grammy
Dont sacrifice yourself
Dont sacrifice yourself
Surprise yourself
Dont sacrifice yourself
Dont sacrifice yourself
Dont sacrifice yourself
Her, the only game in town, a queen of competence
Blind in front of mirrors, proving nothings says a lot
Wham bam thank you charlie
Vanity is all
You wander lonely to the scene
A crawling up the walls
Dont sacrifice yourself

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Byron

The Corsair

'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our soul's as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
whom slumber soothes not - pleasure cannot please -
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint can only feel -
Feel - to the rising bosom's inmost core,
Its hope awaken and Its spirit soar?
No dread of death if with us die our foes -
Save that it seems even duller than repose:
Come when it will - we snatch the life of life -
When lost - what recks it but disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay,
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away:
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;
Ours - the fresh turf; and not the feverish bed.
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang - one bound - escapes control.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave:
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
For us, even banquets fond regret supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory;
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,
When those who win at length divide the prey,
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,
How had the brave who fell exulted now!'

II.
Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle
Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while:
Such were the sounds that thrill'd the rocks along,
And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song!
In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand,
They game-carouse-converse-or whet the brand:

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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

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The Zenana

WHAT is there that the world hath not
Gathered in yon enchanted spot?
Where, pale, and with a languid eye,
The fair Sultana listlessly
Leans on her silken couch, and dreams
Of mountain airs, and mountain streams.
Sweet though the music float around,
It wants the old familiar sound;

And fragrant though the flowers are breathing,
From far and near together wreathing,
They are not those she used to wear,
Upon the midnight of her hair.—

She's very young, and childhood's days
With all their old remembered ways,
The empire of her heart contest
With love, that is so new a guest;
When blushing with her Murad near,
Half timid bliss, half sweetest fear,
E'en the beloved past is dim,
Past, present, future, merge in him.
But he, the warrior and the chief,
His hours of happiness are brief;
And he must leave Nadira's side
To woo and win a ruder bride;

Sought, sword in hand and spur on heel,
The fame, that weds with blood and steel.
And while from Delhi far away,
His youthful bride pines through the day,
Weary and sad: thus when again
He seeks to bind love's loosen'd chain;
He finds the tears are scarcely dry
Upon a cheek whose bloom is faded,
The very flush of victory
Is, like the brow he watches, shaded.
A thousand thoughts are at her heart,
His image paramount o'er all,
Yet not all his, the tears that start,
As mournful memories recall
Scenes of another home, which yet
That fond young heart can not forget.
She thinks upon that place of pride,
Which frowned upon the mountain's side;

While round it spread the ancient plain,
Her steps will never cross again.
And near those mighty temples stand,
The miracles of mortal hand,

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Insomnia

Sleepless himself to give to others sleep.
He giveth His beloved sleep.

I HEARD the sounding of the midnight hour;
The others one by one had left the room,
In calm assurance that the gracious power
Of Sleep's fine alchemy would bless the gloom,
Transmuting all its leaden weight to gold,
To treasures of rich virtues manifold,
New strength, new health, new life;
Just weary enough to nestle softly, sweetly,
Into divine unconsciousness, completely
Delivered from the world of toil and care and strife.

Just weary enough to feel assured of rest,
Of Sleep's divine oblivion and repose,
Renewing heart and brain for richer zest
Of waking life when golden morning glows
As young and pure and glad as if the first
That ever on the void of darkness burst
With ravishing warmth and light;
On dewy grass and flowers and blithe birds singing
And shining waters, all enraptured springing,
Fragrance and shine and song, out of the womb of night.

But I with infinite weariness outworn,
Haggard with endless nights unblessed by sleep,
Ravaged by thoughts unutterably forlorn,
Plunged in despairs unfathomably deep,
Went cold and pale and trembling with affright
Into the desert vastitude of Night,
Arid and wild and black;
Foreboding no oasis of sweet slumber,
Counting beforehand all the countless number
Of sands that are its minutes on my desolate track.

And so I went, the last, to my drear bed,
Aghast as one who should go down to lie
Among the blissfully unconscious dead,
Assured that as the endless years flowed by
Over the dreadful silence and deep gloom
And dense oppression of the stifling tomb,
He only of them all,
Nerveless and impotent to madness, never
Could hope oblivion's perfect trance for ever:
An agony of life eternal in death's pall.

But that would be for ever, without cure! —
And yet the agony be not more great;
Supreme fatigue and pain, while they endure,

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My Redemption Poem

When satan fell,
for one wrong mistake.
He was thrown in hell,
it was all he could take.
For there was still light in him,
but with it was now doubt.
Upon his face grew a grin,
all he did was rage and shout.
He yelled to God 'Why did it have to be me? ',
but he didnt answer,
and satan did see.
That hell was his to rule,
with unimaginable pain,
he would truly be cruel.
To all the lost souls,
he was their Dark King.
With their blood in his bowl,
in their pain,
for him they would sing.
Over the eons he became insane,
but there was still light in him.
Hidden in a deep part of his soul,
a place he forgot to know.
And one day their blood spilled out of the bowl,
he felt something stir.
A sadness so deep,
with a pain so true.
He could never sleep,
so the pain was all he could know.
As he sat there,
with tears in his eyes,
he thought noone was there,
noone to hear his cries.
He heard a voice,
and this is what it said 'Son why do you cry? '
He couldnt believe what he heard,
and was voiceless.
God said 'Son your here by your own choice'.
And with that he felt,
in numerous times,
all the pain he had delt.
And now he seen,
that little light,
he could find that little gleam.
He fell to his knees,
for all to see.
He prayed to God,
saying 'Father can i be saved? '.
'Am i doomed to live a life in this darkness? '.
And God said to satan 'My son all you had to do was accept your choice',

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Sacrifice and Faith Are My Friends

Sacrifice and Faith are my friends!
From the very beginning,
They made their presence known!

I have shown them indifference,
On many occasions.
And we parted...
With Sacrifice being the more stubborn
When I rejected harsh criticsms,
I was not prepared to face!
As I grew to find how true they were.
How I created them and made them to occur!
Sometimes Sacrifice had me on the floor,
With Doubt!
And Doubt and I had bouts...all the time!

That's why Doubt is not a close friend of mine!

Sometimes Sacrifice made me aware...
If I was going to do anything worthy...
'It' was going to be there to insure
I had enough endurance
Not to give up!
Sacrifice was there to make sure
I knew 'It' was where I cared most!
Even though most of those times,
Tomorrow was much delayed!

I'd pray with fears as tears rolled...
To swell into rivers of complacency!
Sacrifice knew that was not me,
Fixed on my knees pleading.

Sacrifice often would connect me with Faith...
When I turned my back on Faith many a day!
I'm so glad Faith allowed my tantrums.
'It' knew I was being a misunderstood child,
When Faith would come and enfold me
With security and comfort.
That would sit with me a while!

Letting my time with Sacrifice...
Be discussed with Faith and understood!
And Faith would bring me to my senses.
Like only Faith knew...and could!

They were never the ones with the conflict at all.
I had to identify them on their own merit.
I had to discover 'Me' and who they were.

[...] Read more

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Convenience

Needing!
And again I am from you...
Addiction free.
What you provided was not love.
What you provided,
Was a convenience to me.
A convenience to have someone there.
To hear breathing the air.
As if the company kept...
Communicated with chemistry.

Needing!
And again I am from you...
Addiction free.
It occurred to me,
To you I was just something to do.
And that wasn't done,
Seriously.
Even together,
You preferred to play hide and seek.

And I discovered,
I want and need love.
And when you left that feeling stayed.
Then I knew what you gave,
Was not love.
But a game to be played.

Needing!
And again I am from you...
Addiction free.
What you provided was not love.
What you provided,
Was a convenience to me.
A convenience that eventually,
Faded.
After the quick and ease of preparation,
Left immediately upon its release.

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A Free Green Grass Of Home Towards

(1)
Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets
Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(2)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(3)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(4)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(5)


Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(6)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(7)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political

[...] Read more

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Mind Power

Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
So when you walk through the door
Is this the bottom word
The fortress of violence will fall
When the tide will turn
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Is there a place you belong
When there is no love
The light that shines is so strong
When you come out of the dark
Yeah
Were living in a violent world
It makes our heart just freeze
Lets melt the ice with heart and soul
To heal a world that bleeds
(to heal a world that bleeds)
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
So when you walk through the door
Is this the bottom word
The fortress of violence will fall
When the tide will turn
So when you walk through the door
You can make it too
The fortress of violence will fall
If you want it to
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day

[...] Read more

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Khalil Gibran

The Playground of Life XIX

One hour devoted to the pursuit of Beauty
And Love is worth a full century of glory
Given by the frightened weak to the strong.


From that hour comes man's Truth; and
During that century Truth sleeps between
The restless arms of disturbing dreams.


In that hour the soul sees for herself
The Natural Law, and for that century she
Imprisons herself behind the law of man;
And she is shackled with irons of oppression.


That hour was the inspiration of the Songs
Of Solomon, an that century was the blind
Power which destroyed the temple of Baalbek.


That hour was the birth of the Sermon on the
Mount, and that century wrecked the castles of
Palmyra and the Tower of Babylon.


That hour was the Hegira of Mohammed and that
Century forgot Allah, Golgotha, and Sinai.


One hour devoted to mourning and lamenting the
Stolen equality of the weak is nobler than a
Century filled with greed and usurpation.


It is at that hour when the heart is
Purified by flaming sorrow and
Illuminated by the torch of Love.
And in that century, desires for Truth
Are buried in the bosom of the earth.
That hour is the root which must flourish.
That hour of meditation, the hour of
Prayer, and the hour of a new era of good.


And that century is a life of Nero spent
On self-investment taken solely from
Earthly substance.

[...] Read more

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