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Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
Harbinger of death
On the road to Valhalla,
Tall on stallions of silver,
Eternity you shall deliver.

Golden wings and iron fists
Shake the heavens, strike the earth.
Saints or sinners, blessed or cursed,
Our fates written in reverse.

(You have shown us how to fly,
Have you come to take us all to die?)

Chooser of the slain,
Cruel justice be your guide.
You have fire in your eyes,  
Burning brighter in our cries.

(Your wings aren't silver but are gold,
Have you come to turn us cold?)
Oct 2015
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
Decade and a half ago,
The world still fresh and new,
Good and kind. Air - not what we choked on
Your ray of light flickered
In my careless recollection
Of course, that was once upon a time.

When volumes of infusion is the blood in your veins,
And scenes change day by day, curtains drawn,
You are at the end of the line, spent, and you're
Holding up yours hands in the air, no defiance.
There is sadness in your eyes, even when you smile
"The war is not won." I said.

Bitter taste of medicine
Lingers like diseases on your tongue.
"To be or not to be"
Is a statement, not
A question, not a
Matter of choice.

Excruciation, or maybe hell, in the purest form
Perpetual realization of pain
Of the crystal mind in storm,
Peeling the psyche of it, driving it off to the edge.
But do people still go to hell
When their lives are sheer suffering
Through and through?
Sept 2014
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
The masters with whip in hand
Shall ring it like a bell.
On the slave's bloodied flesh,
It chimes and echoes
and sings softly,
into the free winds:

Oct 2016
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
Master made a tax collector out of me,
Graced me with the scent of gold,
Fresh and stale and warm and cold.

The masses warned me for my fate to be
"The Forth Circle awaits, behold!"
In hushed whispers I was told.

But a poor, blind man now I cannot see
The price upon my head sold,
One more soul to collection old.
Feb 2015
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
To Jess

She wanted to bury me alive
but i will (not) hand her the shovel
to dig my grave.

She wanted to ignite me
but i will (not) bathe in gasoline
and revel in the incense.

i almost thought i saw heaven
when hell had me at hello,

But i am flesh and fire,
i am iron and ice.  
Do I burn?

And burn and burn,
reduce her
down to
(if I have to)
light the torch
to My lungs, My bones,
My skin, My blood and My sanity,

Burn and burn and burn until
is left of
just to cremate her?
(as I yell with shortness of breath,
"sic semper tyrannis!

or do i fall
and let her take all?
Feb 2016
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
She used to hold my hand as she goes,
Cracking serious jokes,
And our hearts locked close.

Her hair the color of a raven's wing,
Glasses on her nose,
Wise and sharp like an owl's they bling.    

Now the years have flown by,
And some stranger guarding by her side,
For her body failed her, she cried.

Long, curly locks no more.
It was summer, then it's cold.
White as snow, to the core.

No words come when we talk.
But the tv's on, which colors
The speechless nature of our dialogue.
Aug 2014
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
When your first looked into me
— the eye of a hurricane —
You mistook my calm for peace.  

But every breath from my teeth
comes out like a siren’s scream.

I am made of

When I sank Atlantis,
and brought continents to heel,  
you begged and pleaded
for mercy
too late.

I grinned
like the fool you are.

Of countries deluged,
mighty vessels drowned,
and all the storms they weathered,

you named them after us.

When will you learn
we wake war and wonder?
Sept 2017
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