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Chaarzarul Rockett Poems
There are ways to be wild, without being woody. As there are ways to be bad, without being goody. The scenes in the mountains could be scenes in the mall. It's just a matter of taste, and how you stare at it all.
Marching On The Footsteps of Our Forefat...
Here we come. Here we come. The golden hue of a new beginning
Some of us here are like feathers in the wind.
The Man's Machine
There once was a man who built a machine. It made plenty of food and kept everything clean. The man was so happy he had nothing to do, so he threw fancy parties with all the who's who.
The Slave and the Vagabond
The Poem Hunter
I'm the flower you didn't see when you looked upon the spreading tree. I'm the truth you didn't see when you read the book of catastrophe.
Laying low like a snake call it hybernation. Once upon a time I was a poison to this nation.
I had a vision, but it was only a dream. I took a walk down an empty stream.
WAITING FOR THE CRASH
I had no choice when I got on this train, I was put in my seat by the window. Enjoying the scenery, I admit it was fun, and laughed with the other passengers.
I got a bucket full of ghosts and they all love me the mosts but of course cuz I am their host.
Onward, up, and down again. playing a game that none can win. Strike the hammer, And feed the flame, Brush the feather to sign my name.
Darkness, shadows, blood, and fears, Happiness, laughter, and joyful tears. Beautiful smile with azure gaze,
Beneath The Shade
Love is a burden which seems light, But shows it's weight when one takes flight. It burns without fire And gives strength without might.
It was way down in the swampland, Some called it a city. The men were all hot, the women all cold, and there wasn't no room for pity.
Comments about Chaarzarul Rockett
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
There are ways to be wild, without being woody.
As there are ways to be bad, without being goody.
The scenes in the mountains could be scenes in the mall.
It's just a matter of taste, and how you stare at it all.
Do not be ashamed to pick up that stogey,
just give it a brush, and it is no longer grodey.
And if you happen on a sandwich, that isn't quite done,
just make sure that nothing has crawled under the bun.
The same sun rises and sets in the city,
as it does in the mountains and the desert so pretty!