“We’re Play Things For The Wicked”
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We’re play things for the wicked,
In this hell we call earth,
From the moment we’re born,
With their certificates of birth.
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We’re collateral to a debt,
In a country we call home,
Ruled by the rich,
Where nothing is owned.
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Human livestock we are,
To the wicked, just peons,
In a world so corrupt,
It’s been this way for eons.
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From monarchs and dictators,
To corporations and banksters,
Plutocrats and oligarchs,
Their all a bunch of wankers.
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There’s something to be said,
In pretending to be civilized,
Our freedom and liberty,
Leaving much to be criticized.
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We’re deceived by their media,
And politicians puking lies,
Nothing’s as it seems,
As we begin to clear our eyes.
.
And now the fog has cleared,
And the darkness falls away,
We’re just play things for the wicked,
It’s always been this way.
.
by
William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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Image Used: [ https://pixabay.com/en/frankfurt-deutsche-bank-skyline-66840/ ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hanacock © 2016′
“My Precious Dove”
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I have wandered this earth,
Though not, but yet alone.
I have squandered this life,
For a Love, I’ve never known.
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I have lived so many days,
Known some, and loved.
And yet, for a lifetime,
I have prayed to God above,
To release you from hiding,
Ooh,.. .
My Precious Dove.
.
by
William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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Image Used: [ pixabay.com/en/flower-lotus-water-lily-blossom-964459 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2016′
“She’s,.. .”
‘She’s my fourth of July,
My one and only,
My teammate, my pal,
Never I’m lonely.
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‘She’s funny you know,
The way she laughs,
The way she smiles,
Even her sass.
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Some say, she’s not pretty,
But to me, she is,
‘She’s beautiful, and loving,
Yet mean as piss.
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‘She’s my bestest best friend,
My favorite pass time,
My pain in my rear,
And yep!
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“She’s all mine”
♥
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: morguefile.com/archive/display/951561 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2015′
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*In Memory of:
My Best Friend & Wife
Cynthia [Oct. 20, 2012]
“Watched The News Today”
I was watching the news today,
And what do I see?
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Politicians blowing sunshine,
And wars overseas;
Blood, and death,
Even killing of our bees;
Robbers and banksters,
On nations they scheme;
Corporations playing god,
Even tampering with our seeds.
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Skies are turning silver,
From things we can’t see;
The poisoning of our crops,
On which the people feed;
More government than people,
And they say that we’re free;
The only ones living,
Are the wealthy and elite.
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Cost of living getting higher,
And insurance we can’t eat;
Wages that stagnate,
Unable to afford needs;
More homeless than ever,
Numbers growing like weeds;
Our lives losing value,
Nowhere left to flee.
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Yes,.. .
I watched the news today,
but not on t.v.,
I opened my eyes,
And this I could see.
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by
William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/906371 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2015′
“Remember when.. .”
“Remember when.. .”
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Remember when the skies were blue,
And children went out to play,
Before the sky changed it’s hue,
And the earth began to decay.
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When flowers bloomed,
In sunlight’s ray,
Before the gloom,
Of skies of gray,
Before the doom,
Of every day,
Remember when skies were blue?
.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/945853 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2015′
“We’re”
We’re beautiful and loving,
We’re wicked and mean,
We’re evil and kind,
And
Everything in-between.
.
)-(
William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/907211 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2015′
“Through The Curtain”
As he sat in his cold dark room,
Scratching his ear as he thought,
He peers through the curtain, towards the moon,
Remembering a life he had sought.
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He thinks of a time, and gets a grin,
Remembering his children as they played,
His wife,.. . as she kissed his chin,
Oh, those were such beautiful days.
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Why has God forsaken me so?
He asked of himself, in knots.
All are gone, and I am old,
And death comes for me not?
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Lingering, in his memories,
He looks towards a photograph,
Of an orchard full of apple trees,
A group of family as they laughed.
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His dreams are of a happier time,
When the sun had shined on his face,
Of friends and family, and drinking wine,
And kids running all over the place.
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Now he’s old, and all alone,
Everyone he loved has gone,
He waits for the day, he goes home,
To be again, with everyone.
.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/906549 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2015′
“From The Shadows”
There’s something in the night,
That crawls, there is,
Moaning and groaning,
Coming for the kids.
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White eyes in the dark,
No pupil there in,
The dog won’t even bark,
For the fear in him.
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It lives in the shadows,
From demons, was born,
From down in hell’s gallows,
No shape, nor form.
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Like some ancient curse,
To squander your soul,
To quench a thirst,
That’s never been full.
.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/867904 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2015′
“I’ve Come”
The night’s no longer,
Nor is the day,
Of endless hunger,
Nor men astray.
For with a thunder,
God did say,
“No more plunder,
Nor evil ways.”
“I’ve come you see,
To put a stop
To mans disease,
Like days of Lot.
Men do tease,
With evil thought,
On bended knees,
They smite the rock.”
“Governments of death,
Nations of plutocracy,
Where evil nests,
Devouring democracy.
The people’s best,
Full of bureaucracy,
Never they rest,
In all their hypocrisy.”
“For lack of plenty,
The people starve,
Deprived of money,
Society marred.
What some think funny,
Leave others scarred,
Bees and honey,
Are forever barred.”
“Yes, you see,
With a hunger,
I’ve come to thee,
To cure my blunder.
You and me,
And all my wonder,
I take from thee,
And do so smother.”
And with his hand,
The night was no longer,
Nor was the day.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/621511 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′
“We Live In A Time”
“We Live In A Time”
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Of great turmoil, and distress;
Of evil, and hatred,
Great horror, and regret;
Of,.. .
Dirty sands,
Empty lands,
Wicked hands,
And murderous bands;
Of,.. .
Evil works,
Deadly jerks,
Killing clerks,
While in the church;
Of,.. .
Hopeless whys,
Children’s sighs,
Government lies,
And mothers cries;
Of,.. .
Endless death,
That never rests,
Contentious threats,
The blood still wet.. .
We live in a time,
Of do nothing, and watch;
Of sadness, and crime,
And stupidity, un-thought.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: pixabay.com/en/sunset-desert-dry-trees-sandy-soil-284213 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′
“Bla, Bla, Bla,”.. .
That’s all I feel anymore,
When thinking of what to write.
Words seem to escape me,
As I sit here in the night;
Beautiful Letters,
On the wings of words,
Soaring around me,
In an endless blur.
A desolate plain,
On this paper I see,
Has yet to form,
It‘s valleys and trees.
An idle pen,
Circles and lines,
Nothing but scribbles,
From in my mind.
When put to paper,
I sit in awe,
For what I see,
Is, “Bla, Bla, Bla,”.. .
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: pixabay.com/en/sunset-desert-dry-trees-sandy-soil-284213 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′
“And still,”.. .
So many regrets,
Of things I should have done,
Memories I can‘t forget,
Of our days, and then some.
Countless tears I’ve cried,
A heart without a clue.
Something inside me died,
The day I lost you.
No longer my bride,
Or to me be true.
The stars even wept,
As I watched you walk away.
Never a night I slept,
As my mind went astray.
Time no longer kept,
Nor the count of days decay.
I remember every step,
As I watched you walk away.
And still,.. .
As the moon turns blue,
The countless tears I’ll cry,
Remembering losing you.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/201019 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′
“Once There Was A Site”
Once there was a light,
Such a beautiful ‘Site‘,
Where people would write,
Late into the night;
Writing about fights,
And men of might,
Of insect bites,
And fishing for pike;
Of stars so bright,
And birds in flight,
Of boots too tight,
While taking a hike;
And flying kites,
Reaching great heights,
Riding bikes,
And colors not white;
Of things in sight,
Plants with blight,
Of all that’s right,
And even a grip.
Yeah,.. .
Once there was a ‘Site’,
It’s light burned bright,
Where people would write,
Late into the night;
‘Twas a beautiful ‘Site’ indeed.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: pixabay.com/en/writing-journal-paper-letter-427527 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′
“Ellen”
Nobody ever liked her,
She was different, even strange.
Always singing songs,
Sometimes dancing in the rain.
Round and around,
Like a butterfly in the wind,
Laughing, and giggling,
Not a care of where, or when.
Some days running barefoot,
Through the flowers in the grass,
Waiving her palms,
Through the daisies as she passed.
Blueberries and apricots,
You could smell em’ in the air.
Pollen and honey,
Was the smell of her hair.
She’s still out there you know,
Dancing and running,
Still laughing, and giggling,
Like everything’s so funny.
Some days you can see her,
As she peers from behind a tree,
That sparkle in her eyes,
As she watches you and me.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/898732 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′
“This I’d Dream”
William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/623922 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′
“Behind These Bars”
It’s smelly in here,
Behind these bars,
The stench of ass,
And feet of tar.
Somebody needs a bath!
Years go by,
No end in sight,
This steel bed,
I never sleep right.
Really improved my math.
Bells go off,
It’s time for count,
All in place,
Standing so stout.
Feeling our keepers wrath.
No sense anymore,
As days go by,
No longer I dream,
Nor ask myself why.
All is in the past.
No looking back,
A time no longer,
A wonderful life,
I did so squander.
Young and living fast.
I ask you now,
I pray for hell,
Anything is better,
Than in this cell.
Please God, as I ask.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/616068 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′
“Thunder Thighs!”
In the distance,
There echoes a sound,
Of thundering thighs,
As feet hit the ground.
Leaping tall men,
In a single bound,
Faster and faster,
As she looks around
People all running,
All trying to hide,
Hoping not found,
For how hard they tried.
She’s big and mean,
And she’s had a bad day,
If she catches you,
She’ll squash you like clay.
Doors are all gone,
The windows all broke,
As she hunts the town,
For all the town folk.
Throwing bananas,
Potatoes and peas,
Hoping that this,
Is all she did need.
Suddenly a pound,
A horrible crash,
Slipping and sliding,
On all of that trash.
Amongst the people,
A whispering sound,
“What could this be,
Have we saved the town?”
In the corner,
Over by the store,
Those thundering thighs,
We’ll hear them no more.
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William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Images used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/55774 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′
“Sweet Dreamer”
William Hancock © All Rights Reserved
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[ Image used: www.morguefile.com/archive/display/687592 ]
Poem on Image: placed by; written by William Hancock © 2014′