~FROM A SEERS LIPS~

[Dept of PMM Artists & things]

~FROM A SEERS LIPS~

• Posted by ♪♫♪♫♥Vlada♥♫♪♪♫ on March 22, 2011 at 8:49am in Poetry International

FROM A SEERS LIPS...

With magic wand so potent is the spell
that none decoyed into that fatal ring,
unless but the sky peculier grace,escape
there we grow early grey,but never wise
there form connections,but acquire no friends
solicit pleasure,hopeless of success
waste youth in occupations only fit for
second childhood,and devote old age
to sports which only childhhood could excuse
there they are happiest who dissemble best
their weariness,and they the most polite
who squander time and treasure with a smile
though at their own destruction...
He that asks him dear five hundred friends,
condems them all and hates their coming
enlightening turns the key in his own door
and at the watchmans lantern borrowing light
finds a cold heart only comfort left.
At the right door profusion is the shrine
profusion unrestrained with all thats base
in character,has littered all the land
and bred within the memory of no few
a priesthood such as Baals was of old
a people such as never was till now eyes opened
it is a hungery vice...it eats up all that gives
soviety its beauty,strengh convenience
and security and use...
Makes men mere vermin,worthy to be trapped
and grabs as fast as catchpole claws of bears
can seize the slippery prey,unties the knot
of union and coverts the sacred band..
that holds mankind together to a scourge
profusion,deluging a state with lusts
of grossest nature and of worst effects
prepares it for its ruin,hardens,blinds
and warps the consciences of public men
till they can laugh at virtue,mock the fools
that trust them,and in the end disclose
a face that would have shocked credulity herself
unmasked this their sole excuse for truth
In the halls of ancient days dear son
when learning,virtue,piety and truth
were precious and inculcated with care
there dwelt a ascended Master called Kius Ialkanun
Discipline his head not yet by time completely silvered over
bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth
but strong for service still,and unimpaired
his eye was meek and gentle,and a smile played
on his lips and in his speech was heard paternal
sweetness,dignity and love the occupation dearest
to his heart was to encourage goodness,he would stroke
the head of modest and ingeneous worth
the blushed at its own praise and pressed the youth
close to his side that pleased him
learning grew beneath his care a thriving vigorious plant
the mind was well informed,the passions held
but Discipline a fathful servant long
declined at lengh into the vale of years
this good old friend my decipline at lengh
overlooked and unemployed,fell sick and died...

©~Vlada Mikahl Schoon~

http://paganunderworld.com/group/poetryintenational/forum/topic/sho...