Thursday, October 4, 2012




Praise be to you,
Glories also are yours
You made my verse hurting
And my pen a sword
That stabs ladies's flesh.

Accuse me thus, suspicious you be.
My intention yet was right.
Accuse me not, nor slander on me.
For my tongue is sour, bitter and sweet,

Your abode I overwhelmed.
Your threat shall never pay,
Nor win the heart that's changed.
Alteration is welcomed as yours.
As it's much happier and tension-less.

Brief stay of yours has bored.
So much so that pray I do
On your mortality and ruin.
Onto you your scorn will turn.
Unknown you'll be as before.

If I could write the beauty of my brain,
Would you say: "This poet means 'I'.

Nor you or your like care I do,
Amvibalent my words would ever be!
Your whisky complaints aroused the writer's rage
"Scheming boy, love in eyes, hatred in mind.

"Asses are asses except if alter is in need."
Nature per se is a changing course.
Your change I need to the end.
I like it as a stationary chance.