A collective tyrant, spread over the length and breadth of the land, is no more acceptable than a single tyrant ensconced on his throne.
quote by Georges Clemenceau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Tyrant
Behold tis I the commander
Whose grip controls you all
Resist me not, surrender
Ill no compassion call
(tyrant) capture of humanity
(tyrant) conqueror of all
(tyrant) hideous destructor
(tyrant) every man shall fall
Your very lives are held within my fingers
I snap them and you cower down in fear
You spineless things who belly down to slither
To the end of the world you follow to be near
(tyrant) capture of humanity
(tyrant) conqueror of all
(tyrant) hideous destructor
(tyrant) every man shall fall
Mourn for us oppressed in fear
Chained and shackled we are bound
Freedom choked in dread we live
Since tyrant was enthroned
I listen not to sympathy
Whilst ruler of this land
Withdraw your feeble aches and moans
Or suffer smite from this my hand
(tyrant) capture of humanity
(tyrant) conqueror of all
(tyrant) hideous destructor
(tyrant) every man shall fall
Mourn for us oppressed in fear
Chained and shackled we are bound
Freedom choked in dread we live
Since tyrant was enthroned
My legions faithful unto death
Ill summon to my court
And as you perish each of you
Shall scream as you are sought
(tyrant) capture of humanity
(tyrant) conqueror of all
(tyrant) hideous destructor
(tyrant) every man shall fall
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Song Now As New
Old Song Now As New
The tyrant too sings swing -
Tyrant is too loving as if -
Look and learn a swimming -
Don't fall asleep in its ship-
TS.
poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
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Every one with this writ may be a tyrant; if this commission be legal, a tyrant in a legal manner, also, may control, imprison, or murder any one within the realm.
quote by James Otis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Believe it as right
Rejoice o, sons of soil and celebrate
The happiness and joy how to narrate
It has found its ultimate and logical end
The tyrant was forced to flee and inclined to bend
The popular will has prevailed and won
The hardship and pain may finally be gone
Let another tyrant not enter through back door
The country belongs to all including very poor
Years have passed in turmoil and end was not in sight
No one was able to judge and believe it as right
How can a single individual rule over millions hungry?
When there was no love for countrymen and country?
The endurance has now no more stretching space
We have been pushed into corner for mad race
It was unknown tyrant to long for such a long
Why did he not know he was doing something wrong?
How can we remain in palace when country men were dying in hunger?
Why can’t one understand that people are unhappy and raging with anger?
Even if tyranny is to find a favor one must act sensible and be compassionate
His rule can be disliked by many but must beat with aspirations and resonate
This is how we have witness over number of years in recent days
People have taken to streets and forced the tyrants to go away
What would they do with stolen national wealth when it is needed here?
How would they feel comfortable when they will find place no where?
The last Great Mughal Emperor Bhadurshah Jafar missed his motherland
He was exiled by foreign invaders for annexing the complete land
How much desperate he was when his last days were near?
He could not find burial land for waging holy struggle for years
People do remember great sons of soil and patronize
They will never agree if attempt is made for country to colonize
It is stand not acceptable as it is breach of promise and amounts to compromise
Even blind ruler may find the revolt much to his astonishment and surprise
It is sad to witness some of innocent deaths
The countrymen may remember their sacrifice and lay a wreath
It may always be commemoration to their selfless service
Whole country may be weeping over martyr’s death and not as demise
The new day may come with lot many aspirations and expectations
New rule with lots of welfare measures may sound as an indication
In any set up people wish is supreme and may stay as final
Any attempt to sabotage it may lead to down fall or tyrant’s funeral
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Last Poor Man
All suffering falls on a
sinful world without pointing
on where to be
sickness and saddness has made
me popular; poverty makes
me feel pride of lack
I am not rich yet my
heart creeps into poverty
My suffering has grant
my generation riches and
success; my tyrant is
here speak not of wealth
close the doors and windows
lets talk in te`te-a-te`te
My home is inside his
oath my tyrant speak in fate
and call me a poorman
No the price must be
paid for my success
i have seen the
twenty twenty vision
i am needless of my
tyrant fate,
my struggle is my glory.
poem by Senator alufalism
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The Mother's Prayer
A mother kneels by the cradle,
Where her little infant lies,
And she sees the ghastly shadows
Creeping around his eyes.
And she clasps her hands together,
And her heart beats loud and wild,
And she cries in a gush of anguish,
'O Father! save my child.
'Oh! do not, do not take him
So soon to the home on high;
My beautiful, dark-eyed darling,
O God! he must not die.
I cannot pray in meekness,
'My Father's will be done.'
I can only cry in anguish,
'Oh! save my infant son.''
Slowly the ghastly shadows
Crept from the baby's eyes,
And the mother saw the bright orbs
Open in sweet surprise.
And she heard the lisping prattle
And the childish laugh again,
And she clasped him close to her bosom,
And her glad tears fell like rain.
The mother stands at the window,
Watching the night come down,
As it settles slowly, slowly,
Over the busy town.
And the withered face is troubled,
And she sighs in a weary way:
'Oh! where does my darling tarry,
Now at the close of day?
'Surely his task is ended:
Why is it he does not come?'
Ah! mother, one word will answer,
And that one word is Rum.
He stands at the bar this moment,
Draining the tempter's bowl;
And your beautiful boy has entered
His name on the drunkards' roll.
Ah! well, your prayer was answered:
You prayed that he might not die,
That he might not join the angels
Who dwell in their home on high.
O mother! say, is it better,
Or is it worse than death,
To see your darling stagger,
And feel his rum-foul breath?
You could not pray, 'My Father,
Thy will, not mine, be done,'
But cried, in your deaf, blind sorrow,
'Oh! save my infant son.'
And is he saved, fond mother?
And which is better, pray,
To know he is there in the rum-shop,
Or under the grass, to-day?
O God of a mighty nation!
When shall the glad day be
That the liquor reign is ended,
And our land is truly free?-
When our darling boys may wander
Through all its length and breadth,
With never a serpent lurking
To slay them in their strength?
Full many a year has vanished
Since the grand triumphant day
When we stood in bold defiance
Of a tyrant monarch's sway;
And now in a blood-red torrent,
At the price of a million graves,
We have swept the bonds and shackles
From the hands of a million slaves.
And yet we are under a tyrant,
And yet we are slaves to-day,
And we do not bid defiance
To the baleful liquor sway.
Up! O ye mourning captives!
Strike at the tyrant's hand!
Loosen his hold for ever-
Deliver a bondaged land!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Cruelty Can Conquer
Do not blame the people for their cruelty,
Their trustworthiness makes them cruel.
A moaning and lamenting is occurring
Within the ranks of the community.
May a tyrant be judged as a hazard
To save the folk, the folk of love and affection.
Some will desert, some of clay shall break,
But most endure with proper cruelty.
For the tyrant is no more a friend,
And they are no more friends with their enemies,
The enemies of the slain are defeated,
And with the cruelty, with the trust of conquest.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Ye Spirits Of The Free
Ye spirits of the free,
Can ye forever see
Your brother man
A yoked and scourged slave
Chains dragging to his grave,
And raise no hand to save?
Say if you can.
In pride and pomp to roll,
Shall tyrants from the soul
God’s image tear,
And call the wreck their own,—
While, from the eternal throne,
They shut the stifled groan
And bitter prayer?
Shall he a slave be bound,
Whom God hath doubly crowned
Creation’s lord ?
Shall men of Christian name,
Without a blush of shame
Profess their tyrant claim
From God’s own word ?
No! at the battle cry,
A host prepared to die,
Shall arm for fight—
But not with martial steel,
Grasped with a murderous zeal ;
No arms their foes shall fell,
But love and light.
Firm on Jehovah’s laws,
Strong in their righteous cause,
They march to save.
And vain the tyrant’s mail,
Against their battle—hail,
Till cease the woe and wail
Of tortured slave !
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Gigantic daughter of the West,
Gigantic daughter of the West,
We drink to thee across the flood,
We know thee most, we love thee best,
For art thou not of British blood?
Should war's mad blast again be blown,
Permit not thou the tyrant powers
To fight thy mother here alone,
But let thy broadsides roar with ours.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To our great kinsmen of the West, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round.
'O rise, our strong Atlantic sons,
When war against our freedom springs!
O speak to Europe through your guns!
They can be understood by kings.
You must not mix our Queen with those
That wish to keep their people fools;
Our freedom's foemen are her foes,
She comprehends the race she rules.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To our dear kinsmen of the West, my friends,
And the great cause of Freedom, round and round.'
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Circle Of Tyrants
After the battle is over
And the sand's drunken the blood
All what there remains
Is the bitterness of delusion
The immortality of the Gods
Sits at their side
As they leave the walls behind
To reach the jewels gleam
The days have come
When the steel will rule
And upon his head
A crown of gold
Your hand wields the might
The tyrant's the precursor
You carry the will
As the morning is near
I sing the ballads
Of victory and defeat
I hear the tales
Of frozen mystery
The new kingdoms rise by the circle of the tyrants
In the land of darkness the warrior, that was me
Grotesque glory none will (ever) see them fall
And hunts and wars are like everlasting shadows
Where the winds cannot reach the tyrant's might was born
And often I look back with tears in my eyes
Grotesque glory none will (ever) see them fall
And hunts and wars are like everlasting shadows
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Grey Monk
I die I die the Mother said
My Children die for lack of Bread
What more has the merciless Tyrant said
The Monk sat down on the Stony Bed
The blood red ran from the Grey Monks side
His hands and feet were wounded wide
His Body bent his arms & knees
Like to the roots of ancient trees
His eye was dry no tear could flow
A hollow groan first spoke his woe
He trembled and shudderd upon the Bedt
At length with a feeble cry he said
When God commanded this hand to write
In the studious hours of deep midnight
He told me the writing I wrote should provet
The Bane of all that on Earth I lovd
My Brother starvd between two Walls
His Childrens Cry my Soul appalls
I mockd at the wrack and griding chain
My bent body mocks their torturing pain
Thy Father drew his sword in the North
With his thousands strong he marched forth
Thy Brother has armd himself in Steel
To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel
But vain the Sword and vain the Bow
They never can work Wars overthrow
The Hermits Prayer and the Widows tear
Alone can free the World from fear
For a Tear is an Intellectual Thing
And a Sigh is the Sword of an Angel King
And the bitter groan of the Martyrs woe
Is an Arrow from the Almighties Bow
The hand of Vengeance found the Bed
To which the Purple Tyrant fled
The iron hand crushd the Tyrants head
And became a Tyrant in his stead
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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0146 Contemplation's Metaphysical
The height and depth and length and breadth of God -
that's what is promised to contemplatives:
and God, the sphere whose centre's everywhere
and whose circumference is nowhere found:
geometry without coordinates
and integral beyond all integers,
description of the indescribable -
can this reveal the measure of godliness?
God's height: the soul, which knows but upward flight;
God's depth: the depthless deep of human heart;
God's breadth: the mind with limits beyond sight;
God's length: how long He'll wait, while we're apart;
this does but limn the sphere which yet awaits
the soul and heart and mind which contemplates.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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With a Nantucket Shell
I SEND thee a shell from the ocean beach;
But listen thou well, for my shell hath speech.
Hold to thine ear,
And plain thou’lt hear
Tales of ships
That were lost in the rips,
Or that sunk on shoals
Where the bell-buoy tolls,
And ever and ever its iron tongue rolls
In a ceaseless lament for the poor lost souls.
And a song of the sea
Has my shell for thee;
The melody in it
Was hummed at Wauwinet,
And caught at Coatue
By the gull that flew
Outside to the ship with its perishing crew.
But the white wings wave
Where none may save,
And there ’s never a stone to mark a grave.
See, its sad heart bleeds
For the sailors’ needs;
But it bleeds again
For more mortal pain,
More sorrow and woe,
Than is theirs who go
With shuddering eyes and whitening lips
Down in the sea on their shattered ships.
Thou fearest the sea?
And a tyrant is he,—
A tyrant as cruel as tyrant may be;
But though winds fierce blow,
And the rocks lie low,
And the coast be lee,
This I say to thee:
Of Christian souls more have been wrecked on shore
Than ever were lost at sea!
poem by Charles Harper Webb
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Die to Live
My identity is questioned
My existence is questioned
Questioned to erase me
From this globe forever
By my own creators
My heart beat increased
I am really frightened
Felt lump in throat
I hadn't noticed tears
I looked for a hug
A hug for support
To back my identity
To back my existence
But I have no one
To support with hug
So I'm backing myself
In my well of loneliness
For my own existence
And my perishing image
In hands of a tyrant
I may lose my image
And existence forever
Whatever may happen
I will fight the tyrant
And will die with honor
So at least my name remains
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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The length of your education is less important than its breadth, and the length of your life is less important than its depth.
quote by Marilyn vos Savant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Frank Gardiner
It is not in a prison drear
Where all around is gloom,
That I would end life's wild career,
And sink into the tomb,
For though my spirit's ever bold
Each tyrant to defy;
Still, still, within a dungeon cold,
I could not calmly die.
It is not that my cheek would pale
Within a lonely cell;
It is not that my heart would quail
To bid this world farewell.
For if oppressed by tyrant foe
I'd freely be the first
To give my life, and strike the blow
To lay him in the dust.
But place me in a forest glen
Unfettered, wild and free,
Wtih fifty tried and chosen men
A bandit chief to be.
'Tis there, when fighting with my foes
Amid my trusty band,
I'd freely leave this world of woes,
And die with sword in hand.
poem by Owen Suffolk
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The Apparation
I saw a man kneeling beside the dead body Gadhafi
with a smirk on his face holding thumbs up… eleven
months later he was slain just like the tyrant….
He became an envoy a friend of the wrecked country,
a buddy working to make the country a rational state
the US way; a client state to help oil flow freely to
the west. But he forgot, as many do, the infamy Arabs
has suffered in the hands of the west… even if people
were glad a tyrant was gone they still found the picture
offensive. For they see the inequity of the selective way
the west pushes democracy on the weak.
A ghost looms, a cuckoo in the nest, it will not give up
until it has full power of the defeated and we blindly
follow this cuckoo´s call into the abyss.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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God himself has no right to be a tyrant.
quote by William Godwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Divine Right Of Kings
The only king by right divine
Is Ellen King, and were she mine
I'd strive for liberty no more,
But hug the glorious chains I wore.
Her bosom is an ivory throne,
Where tyrant virtue reigns alone ;
No subject vice dare interfere,
To check the power that governs here.
O! would she deign to rule my fate,
I'd worship Kings and kingly state,
And hold this maxim all life long,
The King — my King — can do no wrong.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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