Clandestine 9:11

0 Comments

Tags:
  • Truth

    Clandestine 9:11

    Clandestine 9:11

    9 and 2 makes 11.

    2 are what died.

    Around 9 is when-

    We all said our good byes.

    9:11 made this world

    Cry….

     

    An apple at a time,

    Temples topple over;

    Gravity, tugging your crowns-

    So plays the 9th symphony

    1 and 1 we all fall down.

     

    Whipped by the scorpions-

    Tail.

    Hear the sound of their wings,

    Dead on; no miss.

    Fiery chariots approaching &

    Appolyon driving them

    Into zero abyss.

     

    9 and 2 makes 11.

    2 are what died.

    Around 9 is when

    We all wondered how and why?

    9:11 query into and told: “let those sleeping dogs lie!”

     

    More stars in

    The skyline tonight.

    The light forever shines;

     the 9th planet far from the sun.

    1-and- 1- read- be-tween- the- lines.

     

    We all must sing along-

    With the crimson serpent

     Whose goats must have-

    ate everything in their path.

     

    .

     

    A Dragon’s deadly breathe.

    (Maybe?) All gone wrong by the eagle’s wrath.

     

    9 and 2 makes 11.

    2 are what died.

    Around 9 is when-

    We all witnessed the unspoken atrocity.

    9:11 clandestine; hope those cutthroat cravens die!

    Fucking- die- with- your- lies!

     

    9 and 2 makes 11.

    2 are what were crucified.

    Around 9 is when-

    We all said our good byes.

    A thousand souls suffered and died,

    9 piece picture puzzle,

    1- by- 1- angel- at –a- time!

    9:11 has mothers weep and cry.

    Can’t you face them and

    tell them the real god-damn reason why?

    9:11 broke this patriotic heart.

    How did this happen?

    So mystified as-

     why are you so afraid to cry?

    So disconnected- clandestine 9:11- you still deny!!

     

     

    By Lance M. Stephens

    Poem Comments

    (0)

    Please login or register

    You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
    leave comments/feedback and rate this poem.

    Login or Register

    If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

    atrophy42’s Poems (20)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Libra Love Disorder 0
    Suicidal Escapade 0
    Stolen Thunder 0
    Rust 1
    Phantom Fear 1
    Black October 0
    The Relinquishing 0
    Kenneth 1
    Two Medusas Cry 1
    3rd Dance With Marie 0
    Peel 0
    Clandestine 9:11 0
    The Glass Keep 0
    The Heroine 0
    Eclipse 1
    Subtle Sympathy 0
    Beyond the Sound 0
    Paramour (Part III Paramour Hiatas) 1
    Paramour (Part II) 0
    Paramour (part I) 0