Ars Pura for creation be the truest of the paths.
and crafts ad usum propium the self sufficient last.
Ad Untrumque Paratus we victors in both lives.
Addendum ad Valorem for the wealth of art and thy.
Semper anticus ad meloria toward the knowledge we may find.
May our goals remain eadem.
Not subject for to change.
And may our hearts remain Arden
Towards all beliefs thou claim.
Liber we remain and sursum we will aim
Sermo Tuus Veritas Est
and with thy word I serviam
and Si Vales Valeo to what love that I may find again.
Sic Infit! Sic Parvas Magna!
Sine metu, Sit nomine digna of that which I was given.
Tonight I rest with ease
For I know now I’ve been forgiven.
Thou who lauds be truest,
While that who measures soul in wealth
Be most ignorantly foolish.
Thy who tends thine spirit be the wealthiest of all.
He who grows his power has the mightiest of falls.
The game of life is not a game that we may play for keeps.
For when the time for death comes round we forfeit what we’ve earned.
All that we may bring is who we knew and what we learned.
Or So I’ve come to see, thus I’ll be ready when it’s time.
I’ve nothing to hold onto, No I’m not afraid to die.
Not that I am rushing my return unto The All
But life’s a lonely bore and I won’t miss much when death calls.
ergo It seems of late the best of times
Are when I’m not awake.
So never waking up
Sounds rather pleasant certain days.
I don’t want to come off as selfish for the live I’s given.
But I can’t shake the feeling that this world is carceram, prison!
I guess it didn’t always, but I’m not one to complain.
A bene placito life has done me well I’d say.
A contrario an emptiness does sit and swell inside
Since you’ve taken leave a mari duque as mare I sigh.
I have become a wretchful mess ab imo pectore
I know it’s all my fault I’m not sure whats left to say.
I am sorry ab intra still Absit invidia
I hope that you fair better than I have as of late.
Ad absurdum I march to see the madness in my fate
Even though I’ve pained I know it’s I that has done wrong.
This Actus Reus burdened long
and hence There were no words within his song
But the truth is that I’ve grown so shy Ive lost my voice.
Ad interim I guess I’ll pass the days with text in hand.
Often times it feels like I no longer have a choice.
I may have lost my track of where this poem had been going.
And I’m a bit uneasy of the feelings I’d been showing.
But my scattered brain it needs release from time to time,
It won’t always make sense but at least it always rhymes.
We find our Pedem Litterae where I may say goodbye,
To all that I have written as I send it toward the sky.
First we see a proletariat
Poor and void of hope
Than you see a rich man
Who goes out in poor mans clothes.
Gambling dope and prostitutes
Are where his money goes.
How such tricksters sleep at night
The world may never know.
Next you see a holy man who’s getting by on bribes
After work you see him at the brothel getting high.
What a joyous world you see,
Deceptive is it not.
If only the world was have as nice
As the naive consumers thought.
Just like the US scientists
Who test their bombs abroad.
While islanders who used to call these wasteland islands home,
Were left to sit in starvation gaining cancers in their bones.
Tell me now was it worth the peoples eyes to know,
Just how many lives a bomb could ruin in one blow.
Mother earth has given us all what we think we own,
And that’s how we repay her and the planet we call home.
Our nuclear weapons could destroy the human race,
And ruin the whole planet,
Over trivial trade pacts,
Just so the aristocrats
Can play their stupid games.
Yet they say that were insane.
While they fiend like junkies
Over power and capital gain.
It seems the more destructive habits
Earn most respect,
Ruin all the lives you want
so long as you sign checks.
As long as money flows from you
Than do just as you please,
As long as you are richer
than the lives that you impede.
In a sick society
I’m glad to not be healthy,
I wish to take no part
In all that’s glamorous and wealthy.
Twenty feet below the earth
The setting stretches through the dirt.
The view: a lively mountain town,
That rests above all those around.
Towering Mountains that scrape the skies,
Can be viewed from right outside
You see trees that line the backs
trailing towers of earthful wrath
Several towns scattered about
Linked by winding trailing paths.
We are here and now is time,
We left our selves with broken mind.
Twelve bells sound upon the tower.
Thy was nowhere found.
Still they sing of aural power
Gained through countless toiled hours.
Gracefully they sang a blues
So lonesome it brought all to tears.
A screaming soul o wanting out
Was all that I had held to hear.
Freedom rings upon our death
And till that day we give our breath
This is all we’d hope to give.
Through the modest lives we live.
Labored words for labored eyes.
Savored truths, recycled lies.
Isolation burns the mind.
Little now is left inside.
Attention must turn outward,
Cause the fires left no place to hide.
Maybe it was for the best.
I guess it gives my soul a rest.
Always looking inward,