Hypocrisy will serve as well
To propagate a church, as zeal;
As persecution and promotion
Do equally advance devotion:
So round white stones will serve, they say,
As well as eggs to make hens lay.
by SAMUEL BUTLER (1613-1680)
Public Domain Poetry
i have gnawed on misery
thrown peace of mind to the hounds
auditioned for dread shadows &
spun despair into crowns
i’ve swung on rusty wolfsangel
’til twisted tongue tasted sense
depending not on fogyish gods
only upon blood & instinct
you failed me &
they failed you &
the gravity of truth will
bring it all crashing down
i will fall as though i meant it &
much prefer running blind
i’d sooner hie than fulgurate
in the dimming of your minds &
i’d sooner tear all your throats out
to the last tooth & breath
i have gnawed on misery
it’s now your turn… or fucking death
you failed me &
they failed you &
the gravity of truth will
bring us all crashing down
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
no one wants to die
no one wants to say goodbye
no one wants to cry
void their headstone of the lie
that there is a by the by
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022
if theirs was the path not followed
then how could we have ever known
of their hopes veiled, atwist in shame
yet now we know
departing eden saved our lives
from the tyrant we thought we knew
meta alpha spitting swords of flame
pious choirs cleaved to the throne
he churned their psalms into a voice of ruin
his shadow sloped through every heartland
so now we know
that whenever he swore to bury us
each variance of will collapsed their brains
they tore themselves on the teeth that hound
we truly blest have truly moved on
presuming to carry gentle our selves
’til we wake to say the soft parts loud
it’s all we know
that if you’re enough then i am too
so will you be my hello for the last time
and tell everyone i love them
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022
Knotted fingers work their skill
Sculpting nature’s giants,
As passion flows through hands
Designed to make things new.
Hematic flow from skin to grain
Rekindles life anew,
This touch like cryptesthesia
Animation from the dead.
And now you try to steal this love
To touch another’s flesh,
To breathe life within a kiss
And raise an amaranthine army.
These hands show dried and lifeless
Now splintered from mis-use,
Cut from weeping saplings
And drowned in blood of men.
by CHRIS NELSON
© All rights reserved 2000-2019
unbolt me 