The real, welcome and thankfully blessed threat posed by Jeremy Corbyn!

By Stanley Collymore

Kiss her hand you ghastly, bearded Republican terrorist
sympathizer and existential threat to our monarchical
Britain! For how dare you anticipate ever being an
authentic member of the Privy Council, the
august body that advises Her Majesty,
and not expect to kneel at our head
of state’s feet and adoringly kiss
her hand, you disreputable, treacherous and
absolutely insufferable man that without
any quibbling or a shadow of doubt
is a festering sore and gross insult
to all of us proud, deeply loyal
and patriotic subjects of HM
the Queen and, of course,
our intensely precious
United Kingdom?

Yet, you have the gall, the sheer temerity and
even the barefaced audacity, Jeremy Corbyn
to actually call yourself an Englishman!
How could you? Especially when our
medieval system of entrenched class
consciousness, quite formidably
and privileged exceptionalism,
routine nepotism and knowing our place in
society; as those, who by divine right and
born to rule the rest of us always know
what’s best for us - has continuously
worked wonderfully well for our
beloved country: comprising
England, Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland,
that we are acutely honoured to call Britain;
and therefore must unchanged continue
to do so without revolting notions of
spurious meritocracy, social and
racial equality compounded by
your untenable egalitarian
meddling, never allowed
to endanger any or all
of this, Commissar
Jeremy Corbyn!

© Stanley V. Collymore
9 October 2015.

The Author’s unabashed remarks:
I’ve not laughed so much recently from any political fallout as what’s been generally going on in the world by or at the behest of the west is clearly not a laughing matter; but I really couldn’t help myself when first the xenophobic bile and racist crap coming from Theresa May then followed by David Cameron’s rather puerile, totally unconvincing but all the same clearly and worried onslaught on you Jeremy Corbyn simply had me in great stitches of laughter. And I must confess that within David Cameron’s vilification speech of you there was one thing I wholeheartedly agreed with him on, Jeremy – but then it was something I was always fully cognizant of – that yes, you are indeed a great threat to him and the Britain he and his likeminded ilk quite evidently represent.

But thankfully from my perspective and seemingly that of many other people across the entire United Kingdom and beyond who aren’t manipulatively snared into the ambit of David Cameron’s propagandizing, narcissistic and utterly self-serving rhetoric, which essentially individuals like me who can and do think for themselves are neither swayed by or in the slightest find remotely convincing; for you are a genuine threat Jeremy but for all the right reasons! So keep on getting them worried, paranoid and occupied like King Canute in trying to stop the in your case the progressive waves of change from reaching the shores of instability which the likes of David Cameron have intentionally and dogmatically caused.

In the meantime all power to the efforts of CLIVE LEWIS the NORWICH MP and the very welcome new progressive movement to truly democratize the Labour Party. MOMENTUM, it’s called! So get in touch with him pronto all you Labour activist and supporters. And I shall assiduously be doing my very best to promote and assist MOMENTUM in every way that I humanly can, and at the same time bring to the notice of Labour Party members and the public in general that while the Labtories in the parliamentary Labour party who are crying foul that genuine and grassroots democracy within the Labour Party and under your leadership Jeremy Corbyn is a particularly dreadful thing - some of them in your Shadow Cabinet and we know who they are – and consequently from their decidedly skewed and utterly sick prospective, and obviously seen as asininely from my own, contravenes the core principles of the Labour Party they say.

Really? When these same hypocritical, clearly self-serving and pernicious bastards are, as supposedly Labour Party MPs in the House of Commons, all staunch members of the “NEW LABOUR PROGRESS ORGANIZATION”: a secretive lobby founded by the yiddish Zionist John Sainsbury of the supermarket family and himself an arch-Tory. But people like me always knew THESE LABTORIES were traitors and 5th columnists in the Labour Party that’s why they must be got rid of, through a concerted Zionist ethnic cleansing in reverse of our own at grassroots and constituency levels and comprehensively DE-SELECT THEM and effectively stop them ever becoming Labour Party parliamentary candidates or MPs again. Then they’ll be wholly free to go home to the Tory Party where these unconscionable and nakedly venal scum actually belong!

It Goes to Figure

A trickle becomes a down pour.
I’m sorry you had your heart set on it.
Broken bits.
I see my silhouette; don’t fret.
My glimpses are few, who ran past is due.
Is it rude of you to exclude.
It’s going to screw you in the end.
Don’t breathe a word of it.
Patter the bones become flatter.
I search for the best deal.
Who steals the show; who grows weary.
Truth be told you were terrible.
Draw me a picture, which is easier.
Soothe my soul. Whip it into a frenzy. I’m not hedging my bets.
Get to where you are going; be strapped in. who strikes up the band.
I’m going to sand my way. Don’t just stand there. You aren’t thinking clearly.
Try a wee box. I have the socks to match. There is no catch. Catch phrase. Set up that way. Gather what you can; fan them yourself. It comes with the glands.
Already in hand. Stand your ground; it is puny. Rides a pony not stuck in mud.
I hear a thud not directly. My nights don’t get any lighter. Tighten what you can. It’s not a flight of fancy; have your pants down. I struggle with that. No haggling for a better price. I’m sizing things up. There’s no complaining yet. Has a pet. For the very few who remain. Do say it isn’t sane. You have only yourself to blame.
No chain letter. Get along better. It’s not the cat’s meow. Keep it between us.
There’s no fuss, I guarantee it. As long as you are caring. Don’t be a dynamo.
Pay what you owe. Don’t dally. It’s too soon to tally. Who is dashing; you know it is bleak. Wreck your own. That will do the trick. I get a kick out of it. The pits. Don’t swell where you are. It’s raining nightly. Glad you could come. Not in the slightest; maybe the tightest in history. Plug your ears. Why do we nickel and dime everything. Everything ends up swinging. I swing for the fences. Another one in the trenches. It is most unfortunate. It comes in bunches; there’s no such thing.
I have a tingle; what’s warning me. Deep sea divers no geysers. You were brought to sea. It functions over time. We are deep in the woods with this. Would it work out perfectly. Nothing but cork. It has bends who tends to it. Up all night no guide. I fight the system. It tears me apart. I don’t know how to prove it. It has nicks. Take your pick of them. No remembering. Kind of stinks. I must think rational. A wick standing. I helped in the handling. It’s streamlined. No tint this time. It goes to figure. Nothing too perplexing for me. I got your back; I’m weak on terms. It’s a skirmish, who blushes is last to vote. Go tactless; times are defeating. We were just seating them. It comes complete. It’s up a creek no patterns here. I’ll get your goose sooner or later. Barter for time. It’s ridiculous.

The bloody nerve of a serial and narcissistic slut!

By Stanley Collymore

Don’t tell me, you’ve lost that will to love because your
boyfriend has dumped you! Well what on earth did
you expect from him on his realizing that you
were simply fair game for any guy who was
financially loaded, that routinely paid you
false compliments and, what’s more,
cheerfully lied through his teeth in
the process to get what he clearly
wanted from you – sex and
nothing more; and all because he instinctively knew
and additionally got to understand that effortlessly
you’re quite an unproblematic sucker for this
kind of purblind stuff and thus an easy lay
when it comes to hearing whatever any
randy Lothario has to say in order to
have his licentious way with you;
and that furthermore in terms
of respect either for your boy
friend let alone yourself
you clearly had none.

Yet now, utterly barefacedly, somewhat
extraordinarily and ironically too you
want others, and with you finding
yourself in this quandary which
you’ve intentionally created
for yourself, to completely sympathize with you
for your having wantonly and stupidly thrown
away in the most cavalier and irresponsible
of fashion that any woman possibly can,
the intense love of a truly decent and,
until your extremely inexcusable
behaviour, the committed love
of an honourable, decidedly
faithful and, undeniably,
a most adoring man!

© Stanley V. Collymore
8 October 2015.

Author’s Remarks:
As those of you who routinely read my work, and especially my poems, will know I write about things that I feel passionately about or which in some way or other has inspired me to comment on them; and this poem is no exception. The genesis of it came about when on a bus journey across West Sussex to the seaside resort town of Worthing just recently, and one that I frequently make when I’m in the UK, I overheard a conversation that prompted this poem. I wasn’t eavesdropping; that isn’t, never was or will it ever be a forte of mine as I have a life of my own and far more important things to do with it than to consciously tune in to the often idiotic conversations of most Brits nowadays. But sitting on this particular bus and at the very front of it I couldn’t, although I tried my level bus to shut it out, help but overhear this conversation coming from two young women who were quite literally, in marked contrast to where I was ensconced at the very front of the bus and directly behind the driver – you can’t get more forward as a passenger on a transport bus than that unless you chose, I say sarcastically, to sit on the lap of the driver.

Anyway, the prattle from these two women, who I know as long term but not speaking to acquaintances as they neither of them apparently feel that they have any obligation to work and regularly take trips on this same bus to Worthing to occupy their time, was most intrusive – can’t Brits of all kinds, and I say this pleadingly talk quietly, and why the hell do they think that everyone is either interested in or wants to hear their invariably banal conversations? Any road these two were no exception to this intrusive and particularly annoying practice that seemingly is nationwide across Britain nowadays. So I had no choice but to grin and bear their infernal chatter, even forced to dispense with my usual scribbling of stories and poems that I generally do when I’m on this one hour and 45 minutes duration drive to Worthing.

The essence of this loud conversation that I noticed others on the bus were equally pissed off with is contained in the poem I’ve written; but quite incredibly by these two females what this utterly praiseworthy man did in summarily and permanently dumping this trollop when he realized what she was up to is something to be vilified; and is clearly at fault for having the temerity and audacity to do so while narcissistically this slut evidently feels she is and ought to be justly regarded as the aggrieved one. But why am I not surprised by this when from the very top of British society to the lowest level of it it’s always somebody else’s fault and never that of the true perpetrator? Ruminate on that one philosophically and morally if the lot of you out there can! And that includes you David Cameron, Theresa May and Co.

More in a Gray Way

Bring in a hammer; please don’t stammer.
I’ve seen it enough to know better.
Weighing the changes; what’s up next.
All buffaloes merge on the same turf.
Bring a tub of butter with you, it’s checked out.
Can I use a spout, not rain water.
Where souls gather or too tired to lend a helping hand.
There is absolutely to be no clutter.
It has wonderful power; it’s more the midnight shower.
Get a grower in here fast, first class.
Calling all parties who want to cash in; bring a bin.
Do we have to wrap around; I’m ready for a grand showing.
Let’s make it brief so was Keith.
Our shoes are off; everything else is dumped.
Come enjoy the thrills, the chills delight in them.
Much stems from eating at the trough, enough spoilage for now.
Do it until the blades need sharpened.
Get in real tight, draw you a box.
It’s more than meeting guidelines; no stress on the line.
Flatten regardless; more adds to a mess.
The more I caress, this one has issues.
How can I best utilize the space.
Come face to face; there is no disgrace. Where are we heading, it can be slow moving. I forgot to get directions. Things are a lot less sensational this time. Pull out your wardrobe. I express your warmth. Cool it down with pastel colors. Names need dropped. That was unspoken because I care. I wear it to the fullest.
The space is saved. There is more you are going to find. I like to remind people.
Most people are stable; drag a cable. Don’t be tardy isn’t that refreshing. What’s brisk can be understood. I understand your doodling. Ring it up. Now I need to summarize. It being a guide needs looked after. After having a whale of a time let’s get adjusted. It requires proof; you stood me up. We aren’t entertaining end of story. Can I get my fairy tales back. No torn dress. It can’t be exchanged for anything less. There’s no way of telling. Dwelling in only one space. Does it grace the page. Stand by for further instructions. Have it attached switch bags. It’s magnetized. It’s not your size. Nothing bearing weight. Have it in stages. Add a basic wage. Don’t ever use the cage like it means something unfortunate. I know all the tricks; now scatter. You have my blessings. It’s easier to fix an earlier model. Safety first. All I know grows directly. It has its way with me. Something sways in the background. Keep it that way. No gray pockets I will spare you the details. Totter at a specific spot. Play dot to dot. Let’s not get spotted. Potted.
A stone’s throw away. Hard on facts. Let me pull you a vine. Here rip its heart out.
Now going stout makes it easier to breathe. Can you see I’m seething. Pouring is so remote. That’s potent of you. The knees are stressed. Can I add a trickle. You can get more with a sickle if you can only find the place. No one ventures here anymore. Cast away. Build up; long on lungs. Bite down real hard. Squeamish. Pick the lock. It’s not a direct order. Purify the stream. What does it all mean. The yard adds to the view. Spoken by the few who approach. Won’t encroach. Have it glazed over. Nothing is cleaner. Refresh my objects. Is that too direct for you.
More in a gray area. My party doesn’t respond to harsh language. This space has been taken. I’m being followed not turning around. More the richer I brought the clincher. It’s hard to believe; a well kept secret. No plots on the ground. Can we clear a spot. Going out hot to trot. The next one being sought. Has my control. I should do some learning. It’s no turning this time that is what I hope. Be flooded. coursing with memories.

The perfidious flight of the covert dyke Queen Bee!

By Stanley Collymore

I woke up in the middle of the night sweating most profusely,
what a dreadful fright, and earnestly sorely wondering what
on earth was going on. For I’d earlier had this quite awful
dream that Jeremy Corbyn was arrested on the specific
orders of the British Home Secretary Theresa May.
whose ministerial portfolio covers these sorts of
mundane things, for being an illegal migrant
living in Britain and who furthermore had
had the sheer audacity and the galling temerity to
brazenly stand for and even get himself elected
33 years in succession as a most popular MP
and, in addition, as we’ve recently seen as
undeniably the massively chosen leader
throughout the Labour movement;
disregard the sick, sore losers
and Labtory MPs, infecting
the House of Commons
with their presence,
in the real British
Labour Party.

His arrest immediately and naturally carried out through
the courtesy of that ever obliging, criminal and quite
sadistically murderous entity known as G4S; that,
to put it mildly, are seasoned past masters in
felonious activities like this. However, as
normality returned and with it my usual
composure I gradually realized it was
simply an upsetting dream that had turned into
an alarming nightmare and that probably had
earlier and somewhat unconsciously been
triggered, I dear say, by the distinctly
racist, xenophobic migration speech
tied to the mindless self-serving
vituperation by Theresa May:
the childless: small blessings
shouldn’t ever be ignored,
discernibly testosterone-
driven and abhorrent
third gender aspirant
for the top job as leader
of the Tory – forgive
me and I do beg
your pardon –
Nasty Party!

© Stanley V. Collymore
7 October 2015.

Author’s Remarks:
Thank God we have the Conservative Party in Britain and pillocks like Theresa May in it to keep our minds intelligently and perceptively focused. For without them, obviously sane and intelligent people, of whom there are still some in the United Kingdom, could quite despairingly in this overtly racist, xenophobic, delusional, sickening and perverted society called Britain rather inadvertently but understandably so given the circumstances they’re daily confronted with, actually think they’re going mad like the rest of the British population; which manifestly they are not!

Personally, I’m very partial to ethnic cleansing in Britain provided of course we get rid of the MP scum in all parties, the paedophile practitioners and their Tory, Lib-Dem and Labtory protectors in conjunction with most of the powers that be and the British Establishment for whom such pernicious and sickening activities are a rite of passage; while leaving decent human beings, and that includes immigrants, to carry on developing Britain as it should be; and against all the odds hopefully transform it into a caring, equitable and a truly egalitarian country that commands the respect of the rest of the world, and doesn’t have to gratuitously and unwarrantedly bomb the shits out of them to make our sanctimonious and hypocritical voices heard.

Flood the Space

I fail to fall; whisper hell is a ball.
Don’t be too comfortable that’s the spirit.
It’s inherited; it’s swift as it comes.
Hold down a full time job, don’t be robbed.
I’m out at knife point stinging along; still going strong.
It has a way of hiding it’s true intent, logs have been spent.
What do you say to that charge barges away.
Don’t be of the elect transfer blame.
Get it direct, safe in passing.
Your time is up must fluctuate more.
No explosions yet; be sensible at least.
Don’t flee; concentrate on loosening the prey.
Have it controlled; much is metered out.
That ends the dampness out of my control.
Roll it right in; put a pin in it. It doesn’t rattle like it used to. Bend on knees.
Go without prayers. It is excitable; relinquish that. Not a nice vector to be on.
Tender on leaving, postpone the trip. It has real zip. Let it creep in. it’s never your side, I still have my pride. Still edgy. Busy yourself. What gets dropped. What is drooping. A sugar rush. Have it to crush; takes practice. Weak buns. Look unafraid. Made to order I need a court order. Eliminate the chances of it springing up out of nowhere. It’s a real terror on wheels. Spills. Notices. The bay did break even. No cow bells heard. You deserve a large herd. Will return the favor soon.
Out of black dye, more to do with making a dish. You can cancel all defects. Let me explain. Have them detected. It is dull when you aren’t around. Stay at home.
You are going to roam anyway. Blow it up. Have no punctures. Comes with a gift.
If it pleases you. Don’t be husky. I value that stallion. Get a gallon to go. You don’t have to prove a thing. The next one is a robber. Stop the flow. Do it directly.
Look no hands. Squash the enemy. Flights of fancy. It has been too soon to combine forces. On a need to know basis. There are no bases set up. Have a gloomy outlook. Our pathways have been researched beforehand. If it pleases the leader. Leading with meter; all safe around. Wear a gown; I have to put up with a frown daily. The plates can’t be broken. This is a token of my friendship. Have it ripped apart. Not a false start. Have it to cart. Be affectionate toward. His peril is your gain. It would be easier to explain. Let it be traced. Never graced this place.
See it drift; I’m already normal. Not today. Flood the space. Magnificence is gained. Out of sync for a time. I’m just roaming. Have it pay dividends; send me off. If it is pleasing to you; it’s extremely felt. No dwelling. Look alive the spirit.
It was not my intention. Bleeds out. Make sure it doesn’t dry. Reasons leaked.
It’s never been a full anything. Wake up sliced apart. It must be art.

The practical response to improper and unwelcome sexual behaviour

By Stanley Collymore

You keep touching me like no other man has ever touched
me before and young and sexually inexperienced though
I might be I’m even so well aware that what you’re
doing is really all about you and most definitely
not about me; and if you don’t stop doing it
immediately I shall be obliged to call the
police; but then maybe not, for their bosses will
only cover it up: paedophilia protectors and
even practitioners themselves you see.
So instead I shall self-defensively,
as is my right, kick you with
all my might where it truly
hurts - smack bang in
the middle of your
very soon to be
very swollen
and painful

© Stanley V. Collymore
6 October 2015.

Author’s Comments:
A young lady I met while travelling on a bus in the Southeast of England and who had sat next to and was on her way home from the college she attended noticing how engrossed I was at the time with my notepad which I always carry with me and the writing I was quite earnestly undertaking, obviously out of general curiosity first politely apologized and then asked me what I was doing; was I a teacher, a writer or a journalist? I smiled and told her I was all three of these. A conversation ensued and I explained that I was writing a poem. As it happened I had with me a few copies of previously written poems that I’d collected from the printing firm where I professionally have my personalized poems and posters done. As she was interested in seeing them I showed them to her.

She evidently liked them and asked what subject I taught. I told her and she said English was also her favourite subject, that she wanted to go on to university and hoped to major in it. Understandably I congratulated her on her sensible choice. She laughed and as our journey continued we built up a natural rapport with each other. Twenty minutes later we said a warm goodbye to each other as she prepared to get off at her stop while I continued on my journey home.

As fate would have it we ran into each other again but this time she was with a group of her friends who she introduced me to. As our encounter took place in the town centre this time we all of us mutually agreed to go to a coffee shop and socialize there. Quite an interesting and entertaining occasion it turned out to be too, leaving us all in stitches of laughter. And it was from one of the young ladies present and who cheerfully and voluntarily relayed her story that this poem I’ve now written was given birth to. She also said that she didn’t mind in the least my turning it into a poem and the others likewise agreed.

This group consist of a superb bunch of lads and lasses who’ve clearly got their heads screwed on the right way; and with me, at their unanimous request conjoined with their parents’ specific permission, I’m now acting as their informal “teacher”, assessing their academic work and making constructive suggestions wherever appropriate both face to face when we meet up but more often than not online when I’m out of the country. Politically they’re also energized but I shan’t say for which party or political leader as this is not a commercial (smile). Suffice to say though their choices in both instances are spot on with mine!

Smallness Takes Over

Let’s get junky; stand next to the monkey.
He keeps the lights bright at night.
All over town must be sheen.
A go between is natural for starters.
I will be glad to do it, I came well equipped.
Don’t trash my name or try to get any of my cash.
I’m coming out of a cloud how proud they were.
Thank goodness there were no girls present.
Give it a whirl; it affects the whole world.
It comes already burned what tyranny.
I feel the soreness, there are plenty on drugs.
Leave with a shrug, have nothing to hug.
That was exceptional go and color.
A wonderful glow is present; look behind you.
Go toe to toe, who had to wake up to this.
It was a near miss; have it listed.
More on repeat performance. It was laundry day. Day to perk up; leave with a smile. Suspend belief. Get it weaved. I take my business seriously. Toss it around.
It pays to pry; I need holding hands. Something as isolated as that. Decided to leave. Have the lanes greased for your pleasure. Fighting tooth and nail. It pales in comparison. I hope it breaks off. You are going to get lost. I didn’t hear back from your boss. Work it in. a wide grin. The data will tell a different story. We don’t cave in that is an exciting event. More is pent up. More is bent; wear a trench coat. Have it soaked. I’m newly broke. Don’t let it creak. You don’t have to choke.
They are leading by a hair. Keep it kind. I have reasons to undermine.
Ring their necks. Have them peck two are followed. Have a speck here.
More is detected. I wasn’t elected for it. Be in harmony. The trial period is over.
Why do I work so hard. So far apart it is not fair. Fair weather friends come calling.
Just a drop will do. Hop don’t trot. Have him caught. So many knots here to pursue. Did you have a clue. I will second that pure hell. That is more telling.
Can misuse who signed. We can’t confirm. I’m turning in. there are no launch pads. Get in here before it erupts. Be the first one out tomorrow. It is horrible.
Never smallness takes over. You don’t have to be heroic. Get it corrected.
I didn’t plan on it happening. For all your strengths you were shot down.
You are better caged, enter stage one. No one is monitoring. It is adorable.
They sure are affordable. Leave room to scatter. Forget the chatter. Win them

Brilliant motherhood and self-effacing femininity conjoined as one!

By Stanley Collymore

You are the visible characterization and uplifting
embodiment of natural motherhood, intuitively
conducting yourself as every loving, caring
and scrupulously trustworthy, biological
mother or parent of whatever category
should; an entirely enthralling and
a most pleasurable observation,
in every imaginable way, to
comfortingly survey in a
vivacious atmosphere
of unstinting and
quite justified

Someone that in this generally feckless, highly
irresponsible and largely dissolute society
of mendacious mediocrity and purblind
stupidity commonplace unfortunately
as well as utterly demeaning and
which nowadays, delusionally
and asininely, are ludicrously are and
seriously passed off as desirable traits of
responsible parenthood and grown up
maturity; yet conscionably and in
every other conceivable way,
and noticeably eschewed
by you, patently and
ongoingly clearly
and specifically
lack any true
of cogent

But you who’re obviously untouched by all of this
have markedly in your case - so conspicuously
and refreshingly different, I must truthfully
say, that one would either have to be blind
or else completely doltish not to notice,
fully appreciate and unconditionally
venerate this methodology of yours in
every practicable way; that’s splendidly
unpretentious, manifestly scrupulous
and agreeable; positively appealing
undeniably inspirational and has
materialized as a decidedly
friendly, captivatingly
feminine and, from a
personal perspective, as
a veritably gratifying
sight to see and

© Stanley V. Collymore
5 October 2015.

Author’s Remarks:
The appreciation of altruistic motives if not entirely dead in Britain as a whole has most certainly been in a very regressive coma for several years now and markedly exhibits all the transparent signs of not only being terminally but also unrecoverably ill. Most contemporary Brits of all ages and each gender haven’t the foggiest notion of what altruism is or what when quite authentically dispensed that gesture is all about, and is nothing more, in my honest opinion, than casting pearls before swine. It’s the same with compliments genuinely given.

Thankfully it’s not a situation that I come across in Germany or anywhere else, come to that, globally, and categorically seems to be specifically a British curse. So as a rule of thumb the only Brits that I routinely pay compliments to or set about doing anything altruistically for are family members, close and trusted friends and on the very rare occasions those whom I’ve previously not met nor known but who evidently and rather refreshingly transcend the pernicious banality and rampant stupidity that is so replete within my country.

This poem was inspired by one such unique person who is British but is as far removed from her peers as chalk is from cheese.

Tomorrow, you will be free

Please don't stop me, my love, let me lie down and kiss the

ground, let me taste the taste of freedom on my tongue and

remember my past no more. Let my tears mingle with the sand

and the sun comfort my soul, for the earth has opened up her

mouth and swallowed my past, no more pain, no more fear,

only sweet music shall ring in my ears.

Look down on her, O Lord, look down and see your daughter

weeping in the sand, she ripped out her heart and has cast

it into the sea, she said,

"Tomorrow, I will be free."

But the ground where she laid is now drunken with her past,

affliction and confusion, the sea has spewed out her heart

and the sun has hidden his face.

I tried to comfort her and said,

"Come, my love come, for tomorrow, is still yet to come,"

but she cannot be comforted, her body's covered with wounds

I cannot see and her words I do not understand.

Night is fallen and my soul grows weak but I will not leave her,

I will cuddle her in my arms and whisper in her ears,

"Tomorrow, you will be free,

tomorrow, you will be free."


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