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    Have you ever wanted to see alternate dimension?Like one with Spartans holding submachine guns,And Persians wielding UZIs and dressed in bulletproof armour? How 'bout one with people eating watches,Pooping in bakeries and eating faeces?Hmm, not a nice reality, is it? Let's try the one where homework is edible,Teachers are all children and students are all adults,Let us torment they who have tormented us in real earth.Give them a taste of their own medicine! Yet to see these queer realities,We need a time-slash-space travel machine.Have you any idea how to build one?'Cos I don't. S'okay, we can dream!Are we not known for dreaming in the wrong time,Wrong place?Let's dream of a dimension where teachers are horses,And we are valiant brave soldiers.Or one,Where we can sleep forever and ever and ever and ever......

    Some buildings on the right, hiding there will make us out of sight. Time approaches, never far away, We should scuttle away, Without delay.   On the other hand as we speak, We can see a messenger bird clapping its beak. Not ours, definitely theirs. And anyone smart enough can see, it is not trying to swallow a bee, but sending a message to our enemy, "That building is big enough to hide, twenty pirates inside".   Upon hearing what I said, one of the pirates palled. Tom, he is called. But then, he said, "I think there is a way, to lead the revolution astray."   Another pirate, Aiden, rebuked, "Trickery is not nice, you must know. Would there be another way to go?"   Tom glared and replied, "We're pirates, freak. It's what we do best. If we don't do it, I fear, we are all in great danger. We must not stay here!"   I stared out of the top windows, With my binos, and I yelled, "Arrr! Quit arguing! We've got the Revolution on our tail! We've got to bail!"   Tom frowned, and mumbled, "Cap'n is right, I should  suppose. But we have no boats..." Aiden snarked, "Hah! Cap'n is always right, we all must believe. So, we should leave."   I frowned, "It's a good thing that I'm like the thrower, and you all are, the obedient spear, for me to control everything about ye, but something is amiss, I fear."   Tom rolled his single eye, as if to bid good-bye. I thought he'd be, perhaps, my brother, I would ne'er, ne'er, ne'er, get him at all.   Tom sighed, and mumbled, "You all may be right, Let's get to a safe spot first, before we fight."  

The Queen of Eddis She instructs Eugenides to steal the Hmaiathes' Gift He goes to Sounis instead, lands himself in a big trouble drift. Hated by the King, Locked into a cell with a clink, clank and cling. The Magus strolls along, Eugenides is shocked, falls to the ground with a bong. Guards pull him to his feet Being embarrassed, Eugenides is as red as a beet. The Magus tells Eugenides he has to steal the Gift, less he die, or be rewarded with the return of him and the Gift. (Poetic summary of The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner)

Grades are so important because they show your rank in society judges you for poor grades and scores seem to mean so much to everyone pesters you for your grades even if you don't want to Say it; they'll always pressure you for that way we'll just get more stressed then Ever wondered how some people had no stress? That's impossible was a word my parents never tolerated that word, never ever did I imagine that one day, I'll think that grades have no meaning that I'm probably never gonna do my best is if I just slack all day after day it is the same monotonic cycle of sleeping all day is not beneficial at all I know is to sleep, I don't care about grades any longer

Weight is so important because they show your rank in society judges you for stoutness and being slender seem to mean so much to everyone pesters you for your weight even if you don't want to Say it; they'll always pressure you for that way we'll just get more stressed then Ever wondered how some people had no stress? That's impossible was a word my parents never tolerated that word, never ever did I imagine that one day, I'll think that being healthy will have no meaning that I'm probably never gonna do my best is if I just slack all day after day it is the same monotonic cycle of sleeping all day is not beneficial at all I know is to sleep, I don't care about my heaviness any longer

A series of random rhymes? Nay. A tumultuous jumble of long words that no one actually understands? Wrong again... the goal isn't to confuse people anyways. Poetry is anything but. Words with convoluted meanings rarely help you express the feelings you can't say into words that we think we have to arrange cryptographically, giving people pleasurable confusion when they read your piece, but of course, they can't understand a single whit of what you just said.

    We are all gods of the land of pharoahs,And as king of gods,I introduce myself and my court to you mortals,You that shall know us. I am Ra,King of gods and the afternoon sun.And joy,I bring to you my face and Light. Then my spouse, Nut.Look in the night sky,And so see her beautiful dress,With all its stars and constellations. I hardly frown,For I am good-natured,Happy I am for eternity as king of gods,Yet I frown upon the Demon Days. Ah, the complications of family!Sister andd mother, brother and son, son and father,Brother and father, sister and daughter...Let me now tell you of that relationship. My fierce and obedient falcon,Horus, son to Nut and brother to Set and son of Osiris and of me,God of war,O delight him; hold a khopesh up to his name! My cunning female magician,Sister and mother to my children,For all grandchildren and great-grandchildren are my children.Worried was she for her spouse and brother,And so destroyed his tomb that was embedded in a cypress tree in her rage.All, bow to Isis. And now, my disobedient child,For all lesser gods are my children too.Set, bringer of evil,Who so plotted against me,And yet swears to protect me. Ironic, no? And now, gaze upon the spouse and sibling of Isis,Brother to Set,Head down to the underworld and into the Hall of Judgement.Take in the blazers, and walls and pillars with hieroglyphs.Look upon Ammit, the Devourer of the Dead, and the Child of Set, Anubis.Fear the Feather of Truth, and let truth blind evil,May your hearts be weighed against Ma'at.Why, Amun to you. My regrets that I cannot introduce you to everyone.We gods are two thousand strong.Yet I cannot resist telling you of my mortal (or immortal) enemy,Serpent of Chaos,Devourer of Light.My warning to you: Steer clear of him.For wherever he goes,A slimy, dirty trail of chaos and destruction follows. Heed me,And bow in supplication.To me, the sun god.

The clock chimes 8 in the morn'. It's Math, or it could be Biology, y'know, one o' those draggy subjects. The teacher's not here yet, right? I'ma put my head on the table and sleep... untill everyone pushes their chairs back and stand. Тьфу, time to greet the teachers already? I stand on wobbly legs like those newborn chicks do, I stare straight ahead in a daze through bleary eyes-- Guess what? I slept for 2 hrs the night before. Pretty short, right? Wrong. Some days I don't sleep. I greet, then my ass hits the chair/bench hard with a nice smack, and my head falls forward on to the table and my specs jerk sideways and--OUCH! My eyes hurt like fire burning on my skin; My hand creeps up and removes my glasses, then I fall asleep again. Feels like barely a minute aft 8 when the bell chimes its merry song again. I don't even stand; I remain comatose on the table. Does anyone notice? Nah, I'm a backbencher, I'm oft unnoticed by the teachers. But I should get up--it's break. Break lasts one whole hour, when I get back to my seat its 1030 hours. Now I'm not alone anymore-- though I'm just plain tired the others are in a food coma, but we all sleep, the teachers get frustrated, they bang on tables and jolt us awake only for us to fall asleep all over again. Noon comes and it sets even more tiresome than before. Some of us start drooling, mouths slack open, clear liquid flowing away and dribbling from our mouths happily. The wetness jolts us awake to find our cheeks and the table and oft, our worksheets damp/wet with drool; we glance around shiftily and hope no one saw the puddle. This repeats day aft day aft day aft... Till it becomes a cycle no one can break free off, not that we even try. One day, we'll all be found with necks twisted, but we'll look like that always-- necks angled awkwardly on the table as we slept. One day, we'll all be found with drool flowing out of our mouths, except our drool is red and can't stop flowing and flows out of our throat too, but we'll always be sound asleep, because we can't break free of the cycle and jolt awake.

The world wrought havoc on my mind What world, you aks? The world of materialistic wants, that's what. How it affected me, you ask? Well, I dn't know, and that's the scary thing-- you don't know how greed will manifest itself. Or am I fearing the wrong thing? The world wrought havoc on my soul What world, you say? The world of sex and porn, that's what. How it affected me, you say? Well, this one's more obvious, and that's not the scary thing-- the frightening thing is, I can't stop my urges; my lust keeps on manifesting--I didn't want it to but it just keeps coming... Oh, that tingle, that twitch, that feeling of skin 'gainst skin... See what I mean? Can't stop, don't know how, endless cycle. The world wrought, reeks havoc on my soul. What world, you ask? The worlds of scary desires that I want to see no more of, that's what. How it affected me, you ask? It's better if you don't know, really.

Stare into the fire Draw yourself into the heart of the flames By the crackling of wood on fire, mesmerize yourself; embrace the heat Draw yourself into a trance Watch the fire dance in the glory of Hestia Sleep by the fire In the name of Auset, let the fire shield you And when winter smashes its way into your slumber, let the fire's warmth melt the cold down and cover you like a blanket; then, when winter slinks away, remember: give thanks to Prometheus and Hephaestus, because without them there'd be no flame to warm you, nor light to see by, no means of protection whatsoever. Keep the flame burning in the honor of Hestia and Auset, because in their absence the dark will envelope you infintely, and the cold will crush you in its deadly grip-- you owe the fire everything: without it you would have perished. This is, after all, the pagan's Fire.

(i) Пианино Black and white ivory keys Pressed at regular intervals by long, slender fingers A head dances above the keys, a pair of eyes rove over the notes that stare back from scoresheets, that reside in a scorebook that appears never-ending, thus the pianist is entrapped and doomed to remain a pianist even as he dies, he will bring the piano and the scoresheets to his grave. (ii) Скрипки, альты и виолончели Strings, strings and more strings, a never-ending sea of strings, guttural sawing, an endless flurry of seemingly excited musicians, when they stare down at the crowd that they can see nothing of, they wonder who's watching them and saw away till the end of their concert on the stage of life. (iii) Флейты, магнитофоны, сопилки и духовые инструменты в целом Flutes or recorders or sopilkos or whatever You have to work your mouth around something, You need to cover up something, You need to let go of something. That is life in a nutshell, but not all of us can do it, yet these performers perform it so well. (iv) Барабаны Basically, they're just skin stretched over an opening, be it animal skin, synthetic skin, human skin, whatever-skin. You hit the skin, either a nice, hollow note echoes in your ears, or a short, hard sound bounces off your eardrums. Either way, the slap of skin against skin is music to your ears (if you're a psycho--I AM a psycho), leaving your skin a nice, fleshy red. (v) Дирижер A lightning conductor, an orchestra conductor, life's grand conductor They all direct something and change the course of that something. Lightning doesn't near us, notes reach our ears, and we reach the end of the line. Who's that conductor on stage? (vi) Аудитория Different shows attract different types of people to watch. Some attract people who care less, Others attract people who cry and weep the whole damn time, others just have no audience at all--the performers perform just for themselves, like the performance of life, or the Life performance, or whatever. Stand on this wooden stage here, behind all the performers. Look down from there, tell me what you see-- I see only darkness, no cheers nor whistles or camera flashes. Tell me, what do you see? (vii) Конечная нота In musicals or plays or orchestra performances, the last note is the most dramatic. Its either too soft, too loud or too overbearing; you never fin notes that comfort you at the end. This life performance has been treacherous, but you've gotten so far-- you need to end it; make everyone remember you. Leave a note behind, as dramatic as possible-- one that lingers in the eyes and ears of everyone who comes across it.

The yellow photograph Cracked and fading at its edges Speak of old memories buried somewhere in our brains Reminds us of old hurts and faded words and pale scars But only thoe that cannot be burnt down with the passing of time, or words of solace.

(i) Solitude Between the two rails A train rattles and rumbles its way along A series of clanging fills the air There, you can see it yourself A trian; the train; this train; that train-- all bound by the rails that cling on tightly as we are bound to the train of mortality, made to travel alone helplessly floundering in our sorrows. (ii) Connectedness A single solitary track glaring its way across the countryside Joined by another solitary track inching its way in from the city Two trains heave and rattle past each other, almost as long as the electric cables on towers. The people inside sit alone on hard plastic seats, look up at the roaring sound from the train opposite theirs and stare straight into the eyes of the lonely Before the trains rattle away and never cross paths again. (iii) Company The train reaches the end of the line And gets ready to switch around-- no passengers--except a young man running helter-skelter towards the train, slips inside just in time. The train whistles, starts off again in the opposite direction. A station comes into view, a hot chick gets on, sits beside him and places a hand on his cheek; they move closer, foreheads touching, then a bolt of lightning flashes through the air and thunder makes its clamour known, then another station comes into view and the chick gets off. They didn't even kiss. A woman with wrinkled skin, tired eyes, has sat at the end of the train this whole time. She seems to grow older as the train moves or maybe that's just accursed imagination that rots sanity away. The man notices all this as the train rumbles away from the station on to another station, where the woman alights, and then there is no one left on the train but the man as he heads off towards the other end of the rails.

Deutsch Kriegstrompeten blaren sich durch das Schlachtfeld Der Boden zittert mit den Spuren der Legionen Die Bäume zittern vor dem dunklen Krieg schreit in der Luft Bogenschützen! Tauchen Sie die Pfeilspitzen in Feuer, Bogen Sie Ihre Bögen, und in einem Strom, lass Sie Los! Ordne den Reitern an, sich im Wald zu verstecken, um Ihre Anwesenheit zu maskieren, Kommandiere die Schwertkämpfer Knien und wie das bedrohte Stachelschwein, liegen flach auf dem Boden, lassen Sie Ihre targes Ruhe auf Ihr Rücken, und mit der Nacht selbst gegen die Legionen, die er befiehlt, lass Sie sich auf uns stürzen, nur um zu stolpern und zu fürchten Untergang fallen, spikes stechen Ihre kalten Herzen in Stein geätzt. Translation War trumpets blare their way through the battlefield The ground shakes with the footsteps of the legions The trees tremble with the dark war cries in th' air Archers! Dip the arrow tips in fire, arch your bows, and in a torrent, let them loose! Order the horsemen hide in the forest to mask their presence, Command the swordsmen kneel, and like th' threatened porcupine, lie flat on the ground, let your targes rest on ye backs, and using Night himself 'gainst the very legions he commands, let them run themselves upon us, only to stumble and fall to fearful Demise, spikes stabbing their cold hearts etched in stone.

O cold winter, thou doth resemble the sly wolf that creeps on its prey, waiting for the weak to near you, then you pounce and tear them to shreds, no mercy whatsoever. you steal their lives away silently as rabbits doth wander cautiously through the woods on padded feet, no noise to be had. No chance for tears nor laments, yet plenty of time for burial; mourning. Then at funerals you lurk in the air and whistle away in our ears, shouting over silence that hangs heavy in the air. You cause all the plants to fold in on themselves, bowing to the bitter wind--then what? Leaves get blown off tree branches and small shrubs uprooted, fields of good, marshy land rendered useless with cold and snow. Then the peasants starve, and the pagans hide away in the forest away from you, devouring their summer food hoards, except no one can run away from the cold, no one can hide and hunker down away from the wind, and all you have done, is bring devastation.

Original (1) Chainmail caked in rusty red blood Sword nicked from slaying pagans that did no wrong Tons of innocent blood spilled V1 Chainmail caked in rusty red blood Sword nicked from slaying pagans that did no wrong The angels' blood spilt on stone V2 Chainmail caked in rusty red blood Sword nicked from slaying pagans that did no wrong Angels' blood water the stone V3 (3) Chainmail caked in rusty red blood Sword nicked from slaying pagans that did no wrong The angels' blood spill on stone V4 (1) Chainmail caked in rusty red blood Sword nicked from slaying pagans that did no wrong The angels' blood pour on stone

Only an electric lamp flickered in the dark When we turned white into black And through my heart ran a spark How to counter your attack?... But you let my dreams down Am I knew what is love? We only ran around Trying to jump above... My heart and lips are broken An eternity long goodbye Your gaze is mocking No one won the fight....

When I was a child and a teenager, I had a best friend. A mobile. Instagram became my heart, Facebook my breath, TikTok my sexy world, Snapchat my body. I was famous because of hot photos, fake smiles, good filters, bold outfits. I spent many precious minutes, happy hours, lovely days, long months and also burning years on mobile. Likes on my photos were my mum, subscribes on YouTube my dad, hate comments and dislikes other people. The enemies. I really hated the bored reality, I laughted to everyone, who wasn't trendy. My family from reality suffered, I ignored it. My virtual family did everything what I needed, I liked it. My family from reality wanted to speak with me, I ignored them. The real family was for me nobody, the virtual family somebody. The applications totally controlled my whole life. I didn't notice the death of my parents, 'cause I ignored them all my life. I behaved like a Golum. My mobile was my precious. I could not the real events. I was nervous, stressed without my phone. One day, I turned off my mobile. I called friends, parents. Nobody answered me. Nobody weren't at home, in my life. I was alone. I was nobody. Now, I'm a normal, old person. I'm still crying for my real mum, who was always kind, for my real dad, who always stayed optimistic, for my real friends, who always comforted me. I thought the virtual friends are better. I made a big mistake. I wish to see my parents one more time, just one minute, one very important minute. I wish to see my old friends. I failed. Maybe I had everything, but I didn't have a true life, dear love, cute children, big garden, family house, beautiful grandchildren. I lost my mind. I lost myself. I lost my originality. I hope you like it. I will be happy if you will comment my poem.

Why is there a world, With so much suffering, With pain and war have occured, becuz 2 countries kept quarelling When people die and families cry, Instead of consoling them we, we stay at home and enjoy, and fully stay in a state of glee When we look back in life, We repent on our mistakes but we continue onwards still in glee Not remembering what our actions have lead to thee.

Bells ringing away War cries roaring down to me Brandish steel and charge Swords swinging wildly No chance to think on't further Duck, slash, block behead Wife and child crying Eyes searching the battlefield He cannot be found Enemy trumpets Echoing loudly around The last wave; last charge Bloody site of war Now bloodier than ever Even the best fall For the second time War cries tear down to my ears In joy and sadness We have won the fight Loss of good men, hard to bear Sound forth the war horns