Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jul 2015 harmony crescent
xuans
the story started with hairline cracks.
cracks that were so fine, thin and insignificant.
let us not sidetrack,
and go straight to how it all happened.

somehow the pressure got to us all
widening the tiny fissures in the wall
slowly the walls started crumbling
and the decorations started tumbling.

the pieces of the walls started to fall off
and each piece that almost hits me
i dodge, dust myself off and cough
it never did hit me that this really could be.

eventually i became enlightened
and my perspective was brightened
suddenly the rug fell through the floor
and i am out the door

plunged into darkness, i ask
since when had the fault lines widened to swallow me up?
into an endless abyss of darkness
unlike that of dusk
Christian, Jew, Muslim,
And Human,
This was a city of Humanity,
All rested and shared here.

We all played here.

Israel, Palestine, Earth,
And flesh and bone,
This was a city of Unity,
All sang and worshipped here.

We all held hands here.

Stones, bullets, drones,
And weeping mothers,
This was a city of Peace,
All fruits and flowers here.

We all ate here.

Anger, violence, fire,
And putrid lies,
This was a city of Truth,
All spoke and respected here.

We all listened here.

Before I was Jerusalem,
Before I was Palestine,
Before I was Israel,
I was a child here.

*We are all forgotten here.
Hey, I actually slept last night
It was nice
The only problem is this:

**I woke up again this morning
 Jul 2015 harmony crescent
niamh
We hide our
True selves
In the big, wide world.
But feel free
In these dark corners
To empty our hearts.
Tell those
most important
That life's all good
And confess
To these strangers
Our true thoughts.
Don't get me wrong,
I see no harm
In what we do.
But which of
Our poetical faces
Tells lies
And which
Speaks true
.
Are you really in love

If you still cry yourself to sleep?
^^/\^/\/\^

to climb the world of crags
the rock face clad in snow
men have given everything
to tred the icy floe

mountain sits
to tempt and lure
a special siren song
scaling up your scaly side
is only for the strong

for you are a dragon
breathing mist instead of fire
you can flick a climber
from your side
whenever you desire

you sleep and men are happy
you wake and we are shy
you shrug your mighty shoulders
and frail mortals die

but when you are peaceful
you inspire awe
we can stop
when we're on top

and touch the face of

GOD



soulsurvivor
(C) 7/4/2015
Watched a documentary about
Sir Edmund Hillary

Quite a man

^/\/\^^
the seven his assertion
of inspired transgression
over a world wrought with weakness.

by binary adjustment an
image to
program vanity’s conformity.
youth poisoned,
a child’s self-worth corrupted,
advertisement’s teaching destructive.

a conglomerate’s ambition—its
fruition; *******,
giving birth to
a blanket of poverty—
a blanket of
laced infection to
stave the cold of squalor’s tribulation,
while old money
flaunts its fanciful garment of dust.

the ******* of human nature
guiding the hands of men.
women, children—
the victims made slaves to
the flesh of another,
living as shades of potential,
suffering the abuse of
disgusting existential.

pounds of grain
producing pound of cattle.
stores of meat kept spilling to waste,
a carnivorous diets’ diversity
an obese symbol of currency.
ingestion a hobby,
an identity, meanwhile
the faceless scavenge;
suffering sustenance scarcity.

an abuse of a system—
its purpose to
help those in catastrophism.
a righteous gift
bled dry by those capable,
them unwilling to provide;
tarnishing validity of
those deserving of
goodness’ generosity.
a cause for uncertainty and
a deflated right hand economy.

cruel acts
rarely noble in purpose,
the darkest notions of man in
revenge do surface.
chilling reminders of
what used to be—
but has never changed
since this dawn’s reign.
reminders of man’s gruesome nature,
painting battered cities
crimson, stained memories provoking
perpetual cruelty.

an age deemed—
enlightenment,
in a world unchanged.
by arrogance of the aforementioned,
our heads
buried in the sands of self-deception.
a falsified claim to reign–
this race,
creation’s self appointed kings;
demand to see but
refuse to witness our own
hideous reflection.

by them his assertion
of inspired transgression
over a world wrought with weakness;
the seven—his market list.
humanity,
long since infant breath,
something to deplore;
leaving no shortage of souls
in the devil’s department store.
I apologize for the inconvenience of length, but feel this work required it to a degree. Another digital cookie offered if the subject of this piece is identified, and another if the "right hand economy" reference is understood.
Next page