We are the legion of the strong, the most powerful ever, able to dominate the the world and everything one can see We are Roman, and I, Mars am their God of domination and war I stand by Rome in everything they do, the Romans, the conquerors, they always sing a song of glee I give my subjects faith in what they do, the strongest army on Earth, scaring intimidating others to their very core.
I look on my subjects, and I am so very proud, everything they have accomplished is because of me I keep the fires of war and conquering others within the Roman heart Everything my subjects do, everything move they make. I am able to see Everything they do, I know it from the very start,
My subjects honor and worship me, following the belief to be steadfast in everything they do I will only lead them in the right direction, following me you have the most powerful army on Earth Everything my subjects do, is always within my view Son of Goddess Juno and the God Jupiter, I have always been special, since my supernatural birth.
I don't condone bloodshed, but to be the most powerful, it is a necessity A necessity that we the Romans stay in total control We are the most powerful, we want to forever rule, to all others, hear my plea Nothing will stop us from keeping our main objective, our goal.
As long as my subjects honor me, I will totally stand by their side Making sure they have total domination, and everything they shall rule My subjects will always fight to the death, they will never run and hide We just want to take our rightful place in the world, we really don't mean to be cruel.
So with that in mind, we rule and we are the most powerful, and for many years we shall continue to rule I will guide my people from the heavens, from the stars People that follow me, well they are no fools I will forever stand by my people, I am the Roman god of war, I am known as Mars
Far, so far, from living lands Doth Eden's garden still repose, In mantled vines and clinging thorn In metaphor, a secret rose; From human memory so torn Till etched traditions be reborn.
Oh, sweet Eden, art thou sleeping, In thy shadowed wall? Shining secrets art thou keeping Written ere the fall?
In language foreign to our ear Didst Eden's master frame His words. In dreaming glade and breathless dell In symphony with new-made birds, Before the judgments awful knell When Eden's silences befell.
Oh, sweet Eden, art thou dreaming In eternal night? Hope hast thou of thy redeeming? Dost thou crave respite?
With flaming sword the angel stands At Eden's gates of timeless age, In bitter rosemary and rue, In gentle healthfulness of sage; By garlands twined with war-like yew Tear-watered by the steadfast few.
My sweet Eden, soft in slumber Join us in our prayer, That though with sin we still encumber Thou art dreaming fair.
"Shalom", she whispered. He bent low to kiss Her hand and then her lips. The London flight to Brussels was announced. One last caress - and she was gone. A holiday so bright with promise paled. Their brief communion; human enterprise That reckoned little with established code. Said Bagsair was lost to jet and skies.
November rains and Tuesday's mail arrived; The envelope postmarked Khartoum contained Three photographs (no message tucked inside). He'd kept his promise -yet it pained her so. And Kipling's thoughts on East and West Had run the gauntlet of another test.
I hear them knock upon my door. I see them just beneath the frame. With silent steps, I cross the floor, and hear them chanting this refrain. Come out, come out into the night, come see the secrets hidden here. Invoking prayer the room I light, preventing them from drawing nearer.
I cry, Go away, leave me here, I will not open or let you in. A moment of silence and then I hear, their taunting call once again. I scream, my terror I release, my voice echoes off the walls. Still they will not let me be, continuing their damning calls.
For five long years in bitter night, I have held them all at bay. They vanish with the morning light, returning at the close of day. Tonight my sins they fling at me, tell us now, do you deny? I wearily whisper, no I am he, I hang my head and softly cry.
As still as death upon my bed, I wait for morning sun to rise, the gun I put next to my head, the shadows win I close my eyes.
"Shalom", she whispered. He bent low to kiss Her hand and then her lips. The London flight to Brussels was announced. One last caress - and she was gone. A holiday so bright with promise paled. Their brief communion; human enterprise That reckoned little with established code. Said Bagsair was lost to jet and skies.
November rains and Tuesday's mail arrived; The envelope postmarked Khartoum contained Three photographs (no message tucked inside). He'd kept his promise -yet it pained her so. And Kipling's thoughts on East and West Had run the gauntlet of another test.
Once beloved by pharaoh's claim Banished from the royal game Nefertiti of the Nile Leaves behind a fabled name
Queen of ancients, old in guile wise and careful, rests a while Beneath the hot Egyptian sands In memory we see her smile
Lost in tales of older lands Gone to sate old time's demands Unforgotten shall she be Ghostly sceptre in her hands
Worshipped once by royal decree Tending children at her knee Father Death has called her free Remembered by eternity.
Into the Sun
I see the sun, and is showered by its golden light If only I could fly I would head into its core, Burning to cinder from its flame, But if I do just that the life I knew would be gone, But yet still I wish to fly through its flame
I count the days by newborn suns and a fading star, wild flowers bloom, and leaves of shady shine, old thirst for love turns to a blaze in my lifes jar. Your orchard trees my bed, my life, my spine, my sprouting wreath youll never merge to tar, my fingers climb and twine to it as growing vine.
I count the seasons by the ripe fruits you gave me, from early springtime cherries to autumn apple pie, your touches mended the debris of a broken key. Bright rainbows take the place of a once grey sky, wind fills the sails of vessels floating to the open sea.
I count my life by breaths I found inside your age, and ticks of hearts, the sounds of life we freely share, the scents of herbs, of rosemary and thyme and sage. And many secrets of yore, to us so dear and rare we laid together in the book, the place of a sacred page tied up with bows of ribbons red to words of love and flare.
This site owned by Anastasia Cassella-Young. All copyright laws applicable. Site conception March 12, 2009.
