Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Geno Cattouse Sep 2013
When cannon roar and young men die. Sated is the reaper?
Never.

The archer  loads the bowstring taught and what does he deliver ?
Death.

The stinging thorns that swiftly fly. Where do they rest ?
in quiver.


And slowly does he map the flight, and loose the shaft  to split the night. A fiery comet burning bright, a fatal blow
deliver.

The dogs of war are ever near. when do they rest ?
Never.
Geno Cattouse Sep 2013
@
Where were you when the sunset last ?

@ the lakeside humming and hooking bass.

Where were you when the moon rose high ?


@ natures temple singing sweet by and by.


What did you say when the towers fell ?


@ some time or another we preview hell.
Geno Cattouse Sep 2013
My boy looks like me a bit.
That stuborn streak.       My poppa's gift to me
Here my boy.                 Have a slice.              No ?

                                       You had the stubborn pie
                                       You scooped the crunbs
                                       And washed them down.......a thousand score
Before.
Geno Cattouse Sep 2013
Teeter-totter on the apices.

Astride a summer rainbow. Pretty as you please.

I caught an errant lightening bolt and then began to squeeze.

Putting  time into a bottle. For days and years like these.
Geno Cattouse Sep 2013
Lifting pebble
Casting in a rippling pool

Expanding. Circles run to shore
Clarity for a fool
Geno Cattouse Sep 2013
You stop to start my dear heart.
                                                 Whispers of cannot be invade your ears.
The night is cool and sullen. Your crystal ball swirling.musical chairs. Winding stairs with no answers.

The ceiling mocks your hopefull stares
Your pillow caresses as passion fruit swirls like crimson clouds.
Mocks aloud.

Easy to be hard.hard to be easy.

Rusted splatter lingers echoing past injustice.with scars stretched taut.

Sullen is the night.

                                                We ask the question.the answer stands akimbo. Glaring. Defiant to the senses.
Beginning's end ushers end's beginning.

Who is to blame?
The moth or the flame.           Truth is farce. A tepid liar.

Rules are amourphous. Real or tristy.
So. We ask.again.again.

Who is to blame?       Careless moth?
                                  Mercilesss flame ? Who.is to blame.
Geno Cattouse Sep 2013
jarring.no melody.

Scarring.No reverie

Rotund.Not svelt.

Verbose.not soothing.

Coarse. Not felt

Come. A card has been delt. A farthing is due.
Pound of flesh or two.


Come.skip to his leu.a tortuous dirge.
Come to the very end of days.

Come children, no turn to return to. My child.

A lemming's trance . Dutifull ant by rote. Chant-like.
Forward to the witches castle. Then stumble.to the horizon

To the witche's castle.

To scatter there.Fodder held ******* to the wayward wind.
Hubris comes calling. Now falling
To forever or never.... forever.
Next page