Evil is to us that is evil done, to others it is someone else and far away. Who can imagine what we do will one day be done to us and not assuaged with tears rolled on to completion.
Let god be true and let it not happen to you or rue the day someone else sees beauty through.
That very day is yet to come and for some is here to stay. All ready primed and crushed to powder, timed. As god will have his say when wicked assembled as are kings full time. In error full outraged fortunes as such stars lol down.
30 youths with gender disphoria are held in the bag by someone unknown in office at that town. From what cynical changes are they to now transition and how. Is truth so certain they can not be ravaged by what fools to them have done. All their days they will remember: School did this, as will every one.
Many students and parents at Leesburg Elementary expressed fear, hurt and disappointment at coming to school a statement said. What monstrous, Filthy Monsters have on these thirty children at that school fed. What psychological damage done and what other damage given and whereto untold will spread?
Such little children liken to me bring them here Jesus Christ once said. Who, to spite god’s own son, has done this thing and bears no shame?
They will not walk down the streets they once called home. They are for the birds, as satan’s spirit sure enough will take them home.
John Donne: Let The Sunshine
Based on the poem of The Sun Rising.
Beware critics croaking and their critiques. Beware the folly of men and their techniques, that pull poetries apart to dissemble them. The beauty of the words they take apart will not go back and with a tap, be lightly fitted so again. Such harmony of words they pick apart they will not loose into your heart. Forever now assured you know all the ancient poet meant.
Assured and diseducated you have been forever spent.
Busy old fool, unruly sun, why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains call on us?
Must to thy motions, lovers’ seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide late school boys and sour prentices, go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride, call country ants to harvest offices. Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, nor hours, days, months; which are the rags of time.
Thy beams, so reverend and strong, why shouldst thou think I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink but that I would not lose her sight so long; if her eyes have not blinded thine, look, and tomorrow late, tell me, whether both th’ Indias of spice and mine be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday and thou shalt hear. All here in one bed lay. She’s all states, and all princes. Aye, nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compared to this, all honor’s mimic, all wealth alchemy. Thou, sun, art half as happy as we, in that the world’s contracted thus. Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be: To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere. This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere. We think not that think continous hours. The past is done and comes not again to us. History repeats itself under god, full time it rank us long ago and far away. Breathe in breathe out and doubt not for ever.
Who would not for his wife and children, sell the world. They are the world. Busy fool indeed that that seeks to compass with a bridge ….eternity…….
