En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Ah, Woe is Me, My Mother Dear

Ah, woe is me, my mother dear!
A man of strife ye’ve born me:
For sair contention I maun bear;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.

I ne’er could lend on bill or band,
That five per cent. might blest me;
And borrowing, on the tither hand,
The deil a ane wad trust me.

Yet I, a coin-denièd wight,
By Fortune quite discarded;
Ye see how I am, day and night,
By lad and lass blackguarded!

poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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'Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E'e

'Twas na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin:
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin.
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us.
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stoun glance o' kindness!

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me;
But tho' fell Fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest,
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter -
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter!

poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Last May a Braw Wooer

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me;
I said there was naething I hated like men:
The deuce gae wi 'm to believe me, believe me,
The deuce gae wi 'm to believe me.

He spak o' the darts in my bonie black een,
And vow'd for my love he was diein;
I said he might die when he liked for Jean:
The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein,
The Lord forgie me for liein!

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
I never loot on that I ken'd it, or car'd,
But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers,
But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less,
(The deil tak his taste to gae near her!)
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.

But a' the niest week I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock.
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owre my left shoulder I gae him a blink,
Lest neibors might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin,
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet--
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin.

He begg'd, for gudesake, I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow:
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Braw Wooer

Last May, a braw wooer cam doun the lang glen,
And sair wi’ his love he did deave me;
I said, there was naething I hated like men—
The deuce gae wi’m, to believe me, believe me;
The deuce gae wi’m to believe me.

He spak o’ the darts in my bonie black e’en,
And vow’d for my love he was diein,
I said, he might die when he likèd for Jean—
The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein;
The Lord forgie me for liein!

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel’ for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers;
I never loot on that I kenn’d it, or car’d;
But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers;
But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think?—in a fortnight or less—
The deil tak his taste to gae near her!
He up the Gate-slack to my black cousin, Bess—
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her;
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.

But a’ the niest week, as I petted wi’ care,
I gaed to the tryst o’ Dalgarnock;
But wha but my fine fickle wooer was there,
I glowr’d as I’d seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr’d as I’d seen a warlock.

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink,
Lest neibours might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper’d as he’d been in drink,
And vow’d I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow’d I was his dear lassie.

I spier’d for my cousin fu’ couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover’d her hearin’,
And how her new shoon fit her auld schachl’t feet,
But heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,
But heavens! how he fell a swearin.

He beggèd, for gudesake, I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi’ sorrow;
So e’en to preserve the poor body in life,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow;
I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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One Man Band

Writers: leo sayer & david courtney
Well everybody knows down ladbrook grove
You have to leap across the street
You can lose your life under a taxi cab
You gotta have eyes in your feet
You find a nice soft corner and you sit right down
Take up your guitar and play
But then the law man comes says move along
So you move along all day
Well Im a one man band
Nobody knows nor understands
Is there anybody out there wanna lend me a hand
With my one man band
For three days now I havent eaten at all
My my you must be getting so thin
And soon my cap wont be large enough
To drop a half a crown in
So hey there mister dont you look so sad
Dont look so ill at ease
Well I can play you any song you like
To cheer up that life you lead
Well Im a one man band
Nobody knows nor understands
Is there anybody out there wanna lend me a hand
With my one man band
And oh oh oh look at the rain falling
Oh oh oh look at it rain
Oh look at it rain
Well nobody sees the minstrel boy as he sings his tale of woe
Nobody sees him coming
Nobody see him go
So hey there mister dont you look so sad
Dont look so ill at ease
Well I can play you any song you like
To cheer up that life you lead
Well Im a one man band
Nobody knows nor understands
Is there anybody out there wanna lend me a hand
With my one man band
Well Im a one man band
Nobody knows nor understands
Is there anybody out there wanna lend me a hand
With my one man band
Oh Im a one man band
Just a one man band
Oh Im a one man band

song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Again Rejoicing Nature Sees

Again rejoicing nature sees
Her robe assume its vernal hues,
Her leafy looks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steep'd in morning dews.
And maun I still on Menie doat,
And bear the scorn that's in her ee?
For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,
An' it winna let a body be!

In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
The mavis and the lintwhite sing.
And maun I still...

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks,
But life to me 's a weary dream,
A dream of ane that never wauks.
And maun I still...

The wanton coot the water skims,
Among the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And every thing is blest but I.
And maun I still...

The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,
And owre the moorlands whistles shill,
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,
I meet him on the dewy hill.
And maun I still...

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on fluttering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.
And maun I still...

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging bend the naked tree;
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When Nature all is sad like me!
And maun I still...

poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Lend

To Lend

Don’t you know
People need people
Amen
To lend an ear,
To listen, to hear
About what’s special and dear
Or full of fear
People need people
Amen
With a message to send
People need to lend a hand
To help us all accomplish God’s plan
Sharing life with someone special
Walking hand in hand
On the beach in the sand
People need people
Amen
To lend themselves as a friend
To another as a sister or brother
A father
A mother
To lend
Don’t you know
People need people

Amen

poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dont Be Denied

When I was a young boy,
My mama said to me
Your daddys leavin home today,
I think hes gone to stay.
We packed up all our bags
And drove out to winnipeg.
When we got to winnipeg
I checked in to school.
I wore white bucks on my feet,
When I learned the golden rule.
The punches came fast and hard
Lying on my back in the school yard.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Well pretty soon I met a friend,
He played guitar.
We used to sit on the steps at school
And dream of being stars.
We started a band,
We played all night.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Oh canada
We played all night
I really hate to leave you now
But to stay just wouldnt be right.
Down in hollywood
We played so good
The businessmen crowded around
They came to hear the golden sound
There we were on the sunset strip,
Playing our songs for the highest bid.
We played all night
The price was right.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Well, all that glitters isnt gold
I know youve heard that story told.
And Im a pauper in a naked disguise
A millionaire through a business mans eyes.
Oh friend of mine
Dont be denied.

song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bill and Jim Fall Out

Bill and Jim are mates no longer—they would scorn the name of mate—
Those two bushmen hate each other with a soul-consuming hate;
Yet erstwhile they were as brothers should be (tho’ they never will):
Ne’er were mates to one another half so true as Jim and Bill.
Bill was one of those who have to argue every day or die—
Though, of course, he swore ’twas Jim who always itched to argufy.
They would, on most abstract subjects, contradict each other flat
And at times in lurid language—they were mates in spite of that.

Bill believed the Bible story re the origin of him—
He was sober, he was steady, he was orthodox; while Jim,
Who, we grieve to state, was always getting into drunken scrapes,
Held that man degenerated from degenerated apes.

Bill was British to the backbone, he was loyal through and through;
Jim declared that Blucher’s Prussians won the fight at Waterloo,
And he hoped the coloured races would in time wipe out the white—
And it rather strained their mateship, but it didn’t burst it quite.

They battled round in Maoriland—they saw it through and through—
And argued on the rata, what it was and how it grew;
Bill believed the vine grew downward, Jim declared that it grow up—
Yet they always shared their fortunes to the final bite and sup.

Night after night they argued how the kangaroo was born,
And each one held the other’s stupid theories in scorn,
Bill believed it was ‘born inside,’ Jim declared it was born out—
Each as to his own opinions never had the slightest doubt.

They left the earth to argue and they went among the stars,
Re conditions atmospheric, Bill believed ‘the hair of Mars
‘Was too thin for human bein’s to exist in mortal states.’
Jim declared it was too thick, if anythin—yet they were mates

Bill for Freetrade—Jim, Protection—argued as to which was best
For the welfare of the workers—and their mateship stood the test!
They argued over what they meant and didn’t mean at all,
And what they said and didn’t—and were mates in spite of all.

Till one night the two together tried to light a fire in camp,
When they had a leaky billy and the wood was scarce and damp.
And . . . No matter: let the moral be distinctly understood:
One alone should tend the fire, while the other brings the wood.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Christmas Carol

Welcome, sweet Christmas, blest be the morn
That Christ our Saviour was born!
Earth's Redeemer, to save us from all danger,
And, as the Holy Record tells, born in a manger.

Chorus --

Then ring, ring, Christmas bells,
Till your sweet music o'er the kingdom swells,
To warn the people to respect the morn
That Christ their Saviour was born.

The snow was on the ground when Christ was born,
And the Virgin Mary His mother felt very forlorn
As she lay in a horse's stall at a roadside inn,
Till Christ our Saviour was born to free us from sin.

Oh! think of the Virgin Mary as she lay
In a lowly stable on a bed of hay,
And angels watching O'er her till Christ was born,
Therefore all the people should respect Christmas morn.

The way to respect Christmas time
Is not by drinking whisky or wine,
But to sing praises to God on Christmas morn,
The time that Jesus Christ His Son was born;

Whom He sent into the world to save sinners from hell
And by believing in Him in heaven we'll dwell;
Then blest be the morn that Christ was born,
Who can save us from hell, death, and scorn.

Then he warned, and respect the Saviour dear,
And treat with less respect the New Year,
And respect always the blessed morn
That Christ our Saviour was born.

For each new morn to the Christian is dear,
As well as the morn of the New Year,
And he thanks God for the light of each new morn.
Especially the morn that Christ was born.

Therefore, good people, be warned in time,
And on Christmas morn don't get drunk with wine
But praise God above on Christmas morn,
Who sent His Son to save us from hell and scorn.

There the heavenly babe He lay
In a stall among a lot of hay,
While the Angel Host by Bethlehem
Sang a beautiful and heavenly anthem.

Christmas time ought to be held most dear,
Much more so than the New Year,
Because that's the time that Christ was born,
Therefore respect Christmas morn.

And let the rich be kind to the poor,
And think of the hardships they do endure,
Who are neither clothed nor fed,
And Many without a blanket to their bed.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ye Jacobites By Name

Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear, lend an ear!
Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear,
Ye Jacobites by name,
Your fautes I will proclaim,
Your doctrines I maun blame - you shall hear, you shall hear!
Your doctrines I maun blame - you shall hear!

What is right, and what is wrong, by the law, by the law?
What is right, and what is wrong, by the law?
What is right, and what is wrong?
A short sword and a long,
A weak arm and a strong, for to draw, for to draw!
A weak arm and a strong, for to draw!

What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife famed afar?
What makes heroic strife?
To whet th' assassin's knife,
Or hunt a Parent's life, wi bluidy war, wi bluidy war!
Or hunt a Parent's life, wi bluidy war!

Then let your schemes alone, in the State, in the State!
Then let your schemes alone, in the State!
Then let your schemes alone,
Adore the rising sun,
And leave a man alone, to his fate, to his fate!
And leave a man alone, to his fate!

poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan

'O wha will shoe my fu' fair foot?
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle jimp,
Wi' the new-made London band?

'And wha will kaim my yellow hair,
Wi' the new made silver kaim?
And wha will father my young son,
Till Love Gregor come hame?'

'Your father will shoe your fu' fair foot,
Your mother will glove your hand;
Your sister will lace your middle jimp
Wi' the new-made London band.

'Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,
Wi' the new made silver kaim;
And the king of heaven will father your bairn,
Till Love Gregor come haim.'

'But I will get a bonny boat,
And I will sail the sea,
For I maun gang to Love Gregor,
Since he canno come hame to me.'

O she has gotten a bonny boat,
And sailld the sa't sea fame;
She langd to see her ain true-love,
Since he could no come hame.

'O row your boat, my mariners,
And bring me to the land,
For yonder I see my love's castle,
Close by the sa't sea strand.'

She has ta'en her young son in her arms,
And to the door she's gone,
And lang she's knocked and sair she ca'd,
But answer got she none.

'O open the door, Love Gregor,' she says,
'O open, and let me in;
For the wind blaws thro' my yellow hair,
And the rain draps o'er my chin.'

'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
You'r nae come here for good;
You'r but some witch, or wile warlock,
Or mer-maid of the flood.'

'I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock,
Nor mer-maid of the sea,
I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;
O open the door to me.'

'Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal--
And I trust ye are not she--
Now tell me some of the love-tokens
That past between you and me.'

'O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor,
When we sat at the wine,
How we changed the rings frae our fingers?
And I can show thee thine.

'O yours was good, and good enough,
But ay the best was mine;
For yours was o' the good red goud,
But mine o' the diamonds fine.

'But open the door now, Love Gregor,
O open the door I pray,
For your young son that is in my arms
Will be dead ere it be day.'

'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
For here ye shanno win in;
Gae drown ye in the raging sea,
Or hang on the gallows-pin.'

When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,
And the sun began to peep,
Then up he rose him, Love Gregor,
And sair, sair did he weep.

'O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,
The thoughts o' it gars me greet,
That Fair Annie of Rough Royal
Lay cauld dead at my feet.'

'Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal
That ye make a' this din,
She stood a' last night at this door,
But I trow she wan no in.'

'O wae betide ye, ill woman,
An ill dead may ye die!
That ye woudno open the door to her,
Nor yet woud waken me.'

O he has gone down to yon shore-side,
As fast as he could fare;
He saw Fair Annie in her boat,
But the wind it tossd her sair.

And 'Hey, Annie!' and 'How, Annie!
O Annie, winna ye bide?'
But ay the mair that he cried 'Annie,'
The braider grew the tide.

And 'Hey, Annie!' and 'How, Annie!
Dear Annie, speak to me!'
But ay the louder he cried 'Annie,'
The louder roard the sea.

The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
And dashd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,
But her young son rose no more.

Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,
And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
But his bonny young son was gone.

O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair,
But clay cold were her rosey lips,
Nae spark of life was there,

And first he's kissd her cherry cheek,
And neist he's kissed her chin;
And saftly pressd her rosey lips,
But there was nae breath within.

'O wae betide my cruel mother,
And an ill dead may she die!
For she turnd my true-love frae my door,
When she came sae far to me.'

poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Id Do It Again

A one man band on a one night stand
As a one man band should be
The cried for more, he replied why sure
And he played one just for free
The sounds he laid down. the songs he played
Made the ladies all come to call
He was born in the back of a seminole bus
On the road to niagra falls
Id do it again, Id do it again
Id do it again
The one man band philosophical man
Didnt lie when he said to us
I seen the high rollers come and go
Its the holy rollers I trust
The man said then he was sixteen when
He retired from the county school
A wee bit thin with a will to begin
He was known to be know mans fool
Id do it again, Id do it again
Id do it again
The one man band was a mighty good man
Cause he played til the break of dawn
He ups and downs about four more rounds
And he stayed til the crowd went home
It seemed to me like he never could be
Like anything Id ever seen before
When he stepped from the stage with his ax in his hand
And he run through the backstage door
Id do it again, Id do it again
Id do it again
A one man band on a one night stand
As a one man band should be
They cried for more, he replied why sure
And he played one just for free

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Commence Lamenting

Discuss,
You must.
But distrust your rush,
To judgement.
Or...
Laments commenced.
That don't pay your mortgage,
Or rent.
That's pending.

Don't lament!

Discuss,
You must.
But distrust your rush,
To judgement.
Or...
Laments commenced.
Or anyone who doesn't pay,
A single cent...
Back,
You lend them!

Don't commence lamenting...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.

Don't lament...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.

Don't commence lamenting...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.

Don't lament...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.

Don't commence lamenting...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.

Just,
Don't do it again!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lament for Culloden

THE lovely lass o' Inverness,
   Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en and morn she cries, 'Alas!'
   And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e:
'Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,
   A waefu' day it was to me!
For there I lost my father dear,
   My father dear and brethren three.

'Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
   Their graves are growing green to see;
And by them lies the dearest lad
   That ever blest a woman's e'e!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
   A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For monie a heart thou hast made sair,
   That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee.'

poem by Robert Burns
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Oh Friend

Trust me oh friend for I have a loyal heart
Trust me oh friend for iv been there from the start

Trust me oh friend for ill lend a helping hand
Trust me oh frend because i do understand

That you have had many a fake hearts in your life
And I shall pull from your back the knifes

that was left by the deceitful beings
Trust me oh friend for ill wipe your tears

and never again should your be afraid
Trust me oh friend I will be your light that shines
within the lonesome night

poem by Khaled Meselhy
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Oh Friend

Trust me oh friend for I have a loyal heart
Trust me oh friend for iv been there from the start

Trust me oh friend for ill lend a helping hand
Trust me oh frend because i do understand

That you have had many a fake hearts in your life
And I shall pull from your back the knifes

that was left by the deceitful beings
Trust me oh friend for ill wipe your tears

and never again should your be afraid
Trust me oh friend I will be your light that shines
within the lonesome night

poem by Nicole Thomas
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I Hate (pleas read and vote! ! !)

I hate the way you make me feel,
I hate that you think you can read my mind,
I hate crying over you,
I hate that you say you care but you don't,
I hate the way you talk to me,
I hate the way you snap over little thing's,
I hate that you don't trust me more over then
someone who did worse then I,
I hate being a prisoner and a segregate mother,
I hate that I can't breath around you with out getting
yelled at.
I hate being accused of eating to much when I only eat
1 or 2 meals a day,
I hate of thinking of pro's and con's of living with you,
I hate of being a scrub,
I hate that I hate of being in this apartment that I live in,
I hate being so unhappy,
I hate that I'm about to cry right now,
I hate being a closed curtain,
I hate being the least favorite,
I hate that I hate my body because you criticize me about it,
I hate how you feel when you come home,
I hate of being scared of the time when I'm with friends,
I hate that I think your hiding me,
I hate that I love being invisible sometimes,
I hate that I'm sorry for hating,
and I hate that I hate.

poem by Melissa Schreuder
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The Letter

With B.E.F. Jun 10. Dear Wife,
(Oh blast this pencil. 'Ere, Bill, lend's a knife.)
I'm in the pink at present, dear.
I think the war will end this year.
We don't see much of them square-'eaded 'Uns.
We're out of harm's way, not bad fed.
I'm longing for a taste of your old buns.
(Say, Jimmie, spare's a bite of bread.)
There don't seem much to say just now.
(Yer what? Then don't, yer ruddy cow!
And give us back me cigarette!)
I'll soon be 'ome. You mustn't fret.
My feet's improvin', as I told you of.
We're out in the rest now. Never fear.
(VRACH! By crumbs, but that was near.)
Mother might spare you half a sov.
Kiss Nell and Bert. When me and you-
(Eh? What the 'ell! Stand to? Stand to!
Jim, give's a hand with pack on, lad.
Guh! Christ! I'm hit. Take 'old. Aye, bad.
No, damn your iodine. Jim? 'Ere!
Write my old girl, Jim, there's a dear.)

poem by Wilfred Owen
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Trust Trust

Trust trust many have found
Trust trust no where around
Trust trust is what many say
Trust trust here i lay
Trust trust in my ear
Trust trust i cant find you my dear

Trust trust is hard to find
Trust trust are you apart of mankind
Trust trust im calling to you
Trust trust please give me a clue
Trust trust i need my love
Trust trust she came from up above

Trust trust what do i do
Trust trust do i believe my boo
Trust trust am i right
Trust trust please show me the light
Trust trust your driving me crazy
Trust trust your just to hazy

Trust trust i will find you
Trust trust i will never find anew
Trust trust help me out
Trust trust cause with this love i dont want to wipeout
Trust trust sarah's is my heart
Trust trust she's a beauty of art

poem by Cody Fortner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Hate...

I hate,
hate that I can't trust
I hate,
hate that I must lie because they'd rather believe I'm fine.

I hate,
hate who I've been.
I hate,
hate to make decisions.

I hate,
hate that I can't hate those I should.
I hate,
hate my life.

I hate,
hate that I can't die.
I hate,
hate to live in fear and hate.

I hate,
hate my uncertainty.
I hate,
hate the lies people tell me.

I hate,
hate that I believe.
I hate,
hate those that wish their lives were mine.

I hate,
hate all emotion that's mine.
I hate,
hate that I need others.

I hate,
hate my own d*mn incompetence.
I hate,
hate that there's so much to hate.

poem by Dama Tristeza
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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