A love letter from an old friend.

Sitting on your shelf, gathering dust, I was new once, now my ears are dogged, torn and I am tired, yellowed and faded. 

I remember when you found me, how thrilled you were when first you saw my face, and you held me to your heart. We spent treasured times together, hours upon hours traveling through time, traveling through space, flying across the desert plain, across to the mountains and past the sea.

I heard you laugh, I heard you cry, the smile on your face at the happy times, the tears running down your cheeks, the grief and pain. Every day with you was like a new chapter of a book, new and exciting, bright and fresh.

Now our time together come less frequently, you have learned much from me and need me less. You grab me from time to time, reaffirming our friendship, if only for a short while. I come to life when you think of me, I awake from my sleep and for a while there is no death, there is no end.

I saw you the other day, you came around, but you didn't come for me. Instead, you put another one of my kind upon this shelf; we sit here sharing stories of the times we spent with you. How lonely we are together, without you.

We miss you, but we know that you love us, you cherish us, you will never forget us. We know these things and many more because you have not discarded us, or gave us away. On your shelf we stay, till you want to read us again.

Sincerely,

Your loving books.

by Robert Barbere

Sea of Hate

Hot is the Sea of Hate,

All who swim, drown.

Deep do they sink

Into the currents of fate

Pulling them forever down.

Burning coldly in jealousy,

They sink to the rocky bottom.

Believing in their own pomposity

Like those of Gomorrah and Sodom.

They rise from time to time.

Spitting accusations of fire,

Only to be dragged back down,

Into the muck and the mire.

In the Sea of Hate.

They will always burn.

It is there only fate.

No more lesson to learn.

Their only lesson is to burn.

Turn your backs on them

Anger is their motivation.

Go ahead and let them be.

Let them simmer in their own aggravation.

Fear is their only reason,

That makes them do the things

They do.

They would enjoy a season,

Of torturing the Hell out of you.

Do not join their game.

You know what the end will be.

For you will never be the same,

You too will drown in the

boiling sea.

In the Sea of Hate,

You will always burn.

The time is getting late,

And the innocent must have their turn.

For they will never burn.

© By R. A. Barbere

(We are the) Masters of the World

Flying high

In the sky,

We are the Masters of the World.

Flying Low

Flying slow,

With banners waving and flags unfurled

We are the Masters of the World.

In our terrible machines,

Built so pristine,

We fly beneath the sun.

No sounds are heard

As the fields are burned,

When all was said and done.

In the night

Looking bright

We are the Masters of the World.

We heard the call,

We saw the heavens fall,

We are the Masters of the World.

Over the land

Over the sea

With outstretched hands

We set you free.

To choose a life,

Under the sword and knife,

It doesn’t matter to us at all,

For we have heard the call,

We are the Masters of the World.

Take a look some night,

When all is silent,

And you will see a sight

That will give you a fright.

Fires blazing on the horizon,

A shadow hanging in the sky.

The time is drawing near,

As the world turns and cries.

Fires bringing death,

Between each and every breath,

We are the Masters of the World.

As quiet as mice,

As cold as ice,

You lay there curled

We are the Masters of the World.

No more disease,

No more war,

Praying on your knees,

On the edge of the shore.

To all who hear,

Those far and near,

To the Masters of the World.

You ask why?

What have you done?

To deserve to die

Under the lightning gun.

Was it too much violence?

Not enough silence?

Does it matter anyway?

Does it do any good to stay?

When all is said and done?

Too many victims,

And no one has won.

Was it the sins of the ancients,

Inflicted upon the young?

Time cannot tell

For the hour glass fell

Spilling out all the sand.

No music is heard

Not even a word

All across the land.

Our ship flies straight

Without malice or hate

We are the Masters of the World.

Over the barren ground

Under the sea,

No life was found

By the Masters of the World.

All is quiet.

All is right.

We are the Masters of the World.

© R. A. Barbere

Reign of Fear

Time is running out

For those who live here.

The stars are coming about,

Beware the rein of fear.

When the stars are in place,

On some peaceful night,

A change will happen in space,

The heavens will be void of light.

It’s nothing more than destiny,

An ancient conspiracy,

Acted with total consistency,

Done with complete apathy,

And now without a tear

Comes now the rein of fear

Beware the rein of fear.

No stars will shine,

The sun will not rise.

And at a quarter past nine,

We will all begin to realize…

That this will be the end,

The beginning of the final moment.

Time will have been caused to bend,

And many of us will be content.

Many will run with panic,

Others will try to hide.

A cry will ring out from the aged and sick,

There will be those who shall abide…

The end will not be merciful,

The end will not come fast.

There will be nothing anyone can do at all,

From no one shall this sword be passed.

A time of darkness will be at hand,

For those who still live.

We will try to make one last stand,

No one shall remain to forgive…

  

Fighting will break out all around,

Death will live in the streets.

Blood will flow across the ground,

And the end will be complete.

It’s nothing more than destiny,

An ancient conspiracy,

Acted with total consistency,

Done with complete apathy,

And now without a tear

Comes now the rein of fear

Beware the rein of fear.

R. A. Barbere

Baktun number 14

When the middle of the night

Turns as bright as day.

The day is without light,

No more music will play.

All the glass will windows dissolve

As your village burns down.

All your problems are solved…

Now buried below the ground.

Oceans and lakes evaporate,

Old hates are forgotten

No more city or states,

All your friendships turn rotten.

No more animals or birds.

No time for grass and trees.

No more time for wasted words

Only death blows on the breeze.

Well laid plans now spoiled,

Those of countries and of men.

Everything sacred is now soiled,

Despite the laying on of hands.

The ice is now broken,

With never ending snow

The last rights are spoken

For all life here below.

Shadows and substance

Of the dead and brave.

Wanting to refinance

A world now a grave.

Look into the mirror;

No more fears;

No more tears;

No more oracles;

No more seers.

Look into their eyes,

No more lies;

Everyone dies;

No more aged;

No more wise

When the sun falls from the sky,

The moon turns blood red.

The stars will scream out –

‘It is done!’

Your heart is filled with dread.

Day after day after day

After the last day was done

Day after day after day

A new age has begun.

© By R. A. Barbere

.

The Heretic

Under the hill of Blasphemy

Doth shine a lite always.

Leading thee into Conspiracy

In whose grasp ye heart forever stays.

Walk softly upon this path

Keep ye forever straight.

Hold onto what you hath

And ye shall know ye fate

Faithe shall not linger

Or ye soul may go astray

Ye may be caught

Betwixt the nite and the day.

Walk swiftly heretic

Time be running out

Hear the clock tic

It be tyme to reason with ye doubts

Walking always in twilight

Keeping pace with the dusk

Running an endless flite

With no one you can trust

Spend some time with ye thoughts

For the cock crew once times three

Now ye hear the shots

And ye fear be set free

Now engulfed with panic

Alle logik be now lost

Remain true Heretic

No matter what the cost.

© 2012 Robert Barbere