Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=528138" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Boa's Ark</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1. MORNING HAS BROKEN<br>The men, in lines, tramp two by two (forgetting all the women who, <br>Preparing for a night of tricks, were painted with their flaming sticks) <br>And think about the time ahead when they'll be gone, their bodies dead<br>(Some rotting slow, some mummified) though once they were their mummy's pride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Attired bright in uniforms, they've strewn their bombs in desert storms -<br>Like melting sands, the sky deforms with darkness, death - and doomsday swarms<br>Through ravished lands where fires warm the corpses, cold and puriform.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Their eyes flash forward towards the backs of lucky ones who'll have the knack<br>Of never being in the way of bursts of bullets as they stray<br>(Effacing phantoms faraway) but live to die another day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They're wishing for a foggy morn or best of all to be unborn, <br>And peering down to mark the sway of wings in webs while spiders prey, <br>They wonder when their time will come and they can stop their fleeing from<br>The sights they've seen, the deeds they've done, the life they've lost, the death they've won, <br>Then muse a while upon the child they killed one day when they went wild, <br>And when they're finally reconciled with broken bodies stacked and piled, <br>They ponder, did she have a kin to curse them for their burning sin? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if she did, would god reply with tooth for tooth and eye for eye? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or would her clan be mild and meek and simply turn the other cheek? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">2. MIDDAY MUSINGS<br>They're counting steps to pass the time and puzzle if they'll reach their prime<br>Or if instead they'll serve the worm their carnal flesh and aching sperm<br>When soon, perhaps, they sleep in berth provided by the chilling earth, <br>And fret about the fate they'll find below the stones that slowly grind.<br>And once or twice will come to mind a sultry smile they left behind<br>(The distant past - a tepid trace - another time, another place) , <br>Reflected in a death grimace that paints a frightened withered face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And on they trudge through guilt and gloom to track their own and other's doom<br>And soon they'll paint another pool with blood of other beings who'll<br>Inhale no more the evening airs, unlike the wily Functionaires<br>Who brutalize the fighting men and send them far away and then<br>(Relaxed, unwound, with victories made) confer with sword an accolade<br>On those who've lopped bowed heads, with blade, while someone bent must turn a spade<br>To hack a hole which then is filled with all the cloven bodies killed<br>And cloaked with clay or loamy dirt, as if to hide the pain and hurt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">3. TEATIME INTROSPECTION<br>Amongst the many are the few who maim and kill and think it's true<br>That purple war's a parlour game when really they are draped in shame<br>For crimes of which they are to blame and can't expunge with searing flame<br>While plodding through an endless time, or pealing bells with holy chime, <br>Or posing in a paradigm where paradox and riddle rhyme.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when they die, as die they must, forevermore their putrid dust, <br>Still soaked with gore and carmine lust, will conjure thoughts of cold disgust, <br>And even though torrential rain (which tastes at times like cool champagne) <br>Can wash away the scarlet stain which mars the earth and its terrain, <br>It cannot ever cleanse the hands that work the guns and burning brands, <br>Or purge the throats that give commands to him who never understands, <br>Nor can the raging hurricane from blackened souls the white regain, <br>Rescind the sins or void the banes or shroud the night with golden chains.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">4. EVENING REFLECTIONS<br>While through the night and day they pass, their eyes avoid the looking glass<br>Displaying dim a pale phantasm plunging deeper in a chasm, <br>Surging in a blood orgasm, smiling thin unveiled sarcasm<br>For the chances lost to taste the many fruits that went to waste<br>When each was still a joyous lad, who went to school and learned to add<br>And danced in rivers barefoot clad, and went to church with mom and dad<br>And heard about the good and bad, before he grew insanely mad<br>And took his brother by the throat and thrust him in a midnight moat<br>And watched the booted body float (quite like a broken battered boat) <br>And left the rag of bones to bloat in bullet-ridden overcoat, <br>And wondered if the goblins gloat or spot (behind his eyes, a mote) , <br>And strode away without a thought that one more life had come to naught, <br>Sedated by a conscience brought to nothing more than dripping snot, <br>While Others sit upon a yacht and pluck the eyes of perch They've caught, <br>For fishes die and seem to see The Ones behind the tyranny<br>(With bellies round from gluttony) in future dangling from a tree<br>(With leaves as black as ebony) , for that's, They fear, Their destiny.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">5. MIDNIGHT DREAMS<br>At night the soldiers sometimes dream of many things which make them scream, <br>Like<br>, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or ofter yet, <br>.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And ever more before they wake, appear the dreams not quite opaque, <br>Like</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Terry+O%27Leary">Terry O'Leary</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=528138" data-title="Boa's Ark de Terry O'Leary" data-description="1. MORNING HAS BROKEN
The men, in lines, tramp two by two (forgetting all the women who, 
Preparing for a night of tricks, were painted with their flaming sticks) 
And think about the time ahead when they'll be gone, their bodies dead
(Some rottin..."></div>
</div>
</div>