ellysunfortune

To crack his head, the crown and vein With the rack of hate or a rock, to Abe Now spills the wine, sprite of wits. A blood as red, the brew so warm With the night glowing for the names and dates. As each of life would meet and ask, “Who broke our friend with cloak of trust?” Now Ancient God, your Abel’s struck Tell us who did, what fuss is new. This Murder game, this word for killed The seat of your shrine it smells of our ash For this infant Abe is the intric’ lamb For so he now doth rest the only sacrifice.

For all Abrahamic Tanks and Mohammedan Rockets. i A lamb that's led a long and fruitful life, Is set to die and for meat to provide and be rife.    Because we are told that its body is not its own, It is owned by the man who yields the Slaughter Knife. ii A desert flower ripped from its throat has fallen, Perhaps their past has caused their hearts to swollen?    Its petals are closed yet still are bright. But even a flower plucked, is a flower stolen. iii A crown of Gold has sat upon her head, Symbol of her wealth is what the Prince has said.   And I am proud of her always, But the crown

A Scimitar that's forced to drag across your neck, Leaves such a mark on its blade, that a Sword never forgets.

To him I bed, A private Fear, That though he has not fled- He is not here.

The rock you mine is your walls, The rock you axe is ceiling,   With just a cut,   With just a hit, Not one of your taps or calls, Would give rescue any meaning. And the last words of a sapper, come forth in prayer, Towards the miner coming up for air, They were gentle and pathetic as they were honest and clear; “Go and tell our Mary, Go and speak to her Jesus,   With a hammer,   With a spade, As you speak to the divine canary, Ask the Angel Reaper to leave us.”

The greyest sky in the most convincing state, Reminds my conscience where I'm at; A town that's doomed to a beggars Fate- Of Homes reduced to Flats. A Borough a Million strong of peoples, A trough of towns and slums. Pigs with their phones set to bangle, And their speakers set to drum. With girls whose eggs are encircled by sperm, Drinking before their beauty. (Under the weight of slap) they squirm, Belly up, like poultry. With Children the height of older Men, The Great Unwashed of Kent, Whose taxes are too often to spend, On the lives they have wasted and spent. And all these Towns are looking the same, Every single one. B

Winter 2008 It's Winters song, its pitch, that numbs an ear. A Cold, that frightens the fur, till the strands are flat. With bones that creak along with the wooden floors, Would seem as though your home tonight has peers, Entering through the hall with empty sacks- And muddy shoes from running through the moors. For winters stretch is the time for thugs and thieves. As Summer is for Conmen and Frauds to charm and deceive.

In my Nakedness; Love comes conjoined with my Greed- In the wonderful arms of my Nymph. Without Tyrants of old with their jangling of Keys, He could grant me my wish like a Prince. But no room in my heart for the ache of the loss, If what’s Loved wont eternally remain- I would pay any debt and would risk any cost, For the proof he wont flee via plane. I am young for my age but I’m too often last, Is it true what they say about years? I have heard that the youth shrivels fast- Bled from the Blood and removed by the tears.

Love, when once was strong at heart, Many cruel; left me shattered- Just to run away with all my parts. For those, that thrived at Evil’s art- The Devil must of been flattered.