the plan—
here I lay—
that was had
to rest,
simple
as
it
is
and should be
to
gr
as
p
is always
invaded by pleas for
care
coming from
leeches
with
out
a
fucking care
for anyone
else
in the world.
but the LORD
has declared,
to rest is
to care
and to care
is to guard
one’s rest.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, August 14, 2026.
Tittu
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: August 14th, 2026 08:48
- Comment from author about the poem: Part of the Truth, Applied collection.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Demar Desu, Paul Bell
- In collections: Truth, Applied.

Offline)
Comments7
a grasping poem my friend
Thanks, Norman! Glad this one grabbed you...pun absolutely loved and accepted. ποΈπ‘οΈπ€π
always welcome my friend
aye you know itβs serious if TRL cursingβ¦
Demar, you know me too well. π If Iβm cursing in the title, the patience department has already closed for the day. ποΈπ‘οΈπ€π
and then you delivered a masterpiece⦠thank you TRL
Demar, thank you! Thatβs incredibly kind of you to say...Iβm truly grateful this one reached you. π€ππ¦π¦ββ¬
requiesce in pace et atende !
Lorenz, I love it. π Rest in peace...but stay alert. Somehow that fits this poem far too well. Thanks, my friend! ποΈπ‘οΈπ€π
This one has a cadence and rhythm a beat that emphasizes the words and meaning. Nicely done my friend
Thanks so much, my friend! Iβm glad the beat and structure helped this one land the way it needed to. Always appreciated, Soren. ποΈπ‘οΈπ€π
My pleasure Tristan
Now this sounds a bit like my X-rated poem, which starts off, though Popeye's ears burn at hearing it (lol):
Ohhhh, grrrr, F, F, F, and F
And furthermore F, F, F, and F!!! π
Orchi, Iβm dying. π€£ Poor Popeye is somewhere clutching his spinach and pretending he heard absolutely nothing. ποΈπ‘οΈπ€π
I was drawn to a fucking just as a blond girl waked by.
Now i realise the leeches are drawing the last bit of blood from your body.
The lord did mention Sunday as a day of rest, but then work brought out double money for a Sunday, and we all became athiests.
The devil says rest when you die.
Paul, this absolutely cracked me up. π A blonde walks by, the leeches finish the job, capitalism kills the Sabbath, and the devil clocks everybody back in. Totally tracks, my friend. ποΈπ‘οΈπ€π
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