Dreamt an army

Dreamt an army of women for me,

all young, modern, free and joyous,

them shackled, it never meant to be,

did get frustrated me frivolous;

till dawned my failure’s import,

me, a one man army fighting hard

to guide their dreams safely to port,

one man against any chauvnist lord;

I dared defy the world for my girls,

furore rose, their miseries swept,

took on bigoted world in my unruly curls,

alone I fought as they for me wept;

my harsh rage unquelled seeking end,

must free them before I die in next bend.

Where are my girls?

Where are my girls?

an army of women I dreamt of,

are they just my mind swirls,

or are they euphemism?;

for the one true girl I seek,

how can it be?

for any single girl, weak,

before the army I shall die for;

in my dreams I lived true,

to all my values and cherished love

through impossible cruel orders

to my girls of my liberal view;

through them I did murders fast,

is it why my dreams untrue to last?

I am prophecied

I am prophecied to lead an army of women,

who love and serve me true,

but what of the woman I love Zen,

he replied with a wink and smile drew;

my girls will win the world for me,

but by the time they appear, she may disappear,

nothing impossible for my girls, conquer all I see,

them I see daily, she I can’t see or hear;

for me they did murders and beyond,

made me richest in wealth and power,

yet can they with her me bond,

or am I fated to purr at her like cat forever;

fate is of cosmic river but one stream,

hate it and will soar with each stream.

Pitch

Pitch too high or low you lose,

pitch perfect yet you get a witch,

life is chase of a wild goose,

lose all in the wedding ditch;

yet man or woman can’t be single,

as society shuns and babies entice,

single girls stalked, guys can’t mingle,

scorned, the single till give up spice;

every virtue a vice here, none wise,

if able singles ridiculed on virility,

sexually imperfect me ineligible dice,

yet happy me play with impunity;

wanting a daughter, waiting a bride,

if my luck failed won’t drown in tide.

Oh you vile

Oh you vile wind that carry smoke and love

carry this to ease miss molality.

He inhales smoke and you smoke love,

one a craving of body, another of soul.

He is strong, yet stand beside.

Aside he crumbles.

He pains you more and you ain’t a pain to him.

Yet he Suffers more.

While you are cloistered in your hearth,

he is judged, weighed and cast aside in open warfare.

A miss has umpteen misters in waiting not vice versa.

Yet when we get a Mrs. we want a few more.

Guys are guys, for a Mrs. also has a few mistresses in waiting.

Is this what they call payback or cruelty of men.