Is It Poetry
America - Poem by Is It Poetry
I am like you, you of sound mind, hope and found dreams.
do you come into and me who am tired.
I am poor and poor I am.
I am he whom you see when you are passing bye.
And in passing by my passing you have passed.
Now know of power, in order to am I, Queens, civil you talk.
And serious is the person
and the woman whom comes to your white house, why can't you see?
The day that it ended, with no help from they, but for greed.
I am a good grunt whom bleeds, bleeding blue blood, I have bled.
God grant me thine help, so help me God, now none think that I can.
I am that wolf that was trained to eat what I kill.
And not one day goes by, not one good day goes by, when I howl.
Our country It goes, tis of thee.
And we are tied to the string of he whom is not himself, that I am.
Dark whisperings of war, how it comes civil war,
from whence it came so far and near to our shore.
Best western nights one free room, H.B.O.and I am sold.
By this am I thus confused and by the struggle for which we all wait.
God save the King,
and our misery of they whom talk about sex, I came tastefully.
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