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Jonathan Veres Oct 2013
When the Grim Reaper turns his head,
Others have run, others have fled.
When the Grim Reaper turns his head,
I sneer, laugh, and smile instead.
"You perform your duty," I admire,
"With dedication and desire."
He stares into my soul, and ***** his head,
He goes to reply, but I say instead,
"Others have feared you, still others run.
I would too, but you're just too much fun"
He cracks a smile, and I am fed
Not his voice, but his low cackle instead.
"One morning I may awake, cradled in your arms,
One evening you may take me, much to my alarm.
But while you smile and cackle, allow me to say,
Though this may happen, it will not happen today."
His cackling stops, replaced by a glare
Into my soul, which was not bare.
I know, he knows, I meant what I said.
When the Grim Reaper turns his head,
I politely turn him away.
Back, for me, he will tread,
But on that day,
I will decide instead.
Jonathan Veres Dec 2012
A day beginning the norm
When disaster strikes the heart.
For from far below I see the form,
Of lives being torn apart.

This old factory of clothes
Is now a new crematorium.
This towering inferno shows
No safety ultimatum.

From inside I hear the screams,
From outside I see the death.
In all the world it seems
That screams are the dying breath.

Faced with a horrendous fate,
Some choose to end it all.
For from below I can not create
Words describing their fall.

A new noise enters my life.
That of people meeting the ground,
Of people jumping to end their strife.
None can know, unless one hears that terrible sound.

The ladders cannot reach,
The passages are locked.
In vain those seek to breath
That which stupidity mocked.

146 lives are lost.
All of who breathed a last breath.
That coldness grips the heart, that frost.
The heat of flame as wrought the cold of death.
Near closing times on March 25, 1911, a fire in Triangle Waist Factory in New York city killed 146 people in 18 minutes. I wrote this as an imagining of a spectator on the street outside the factory. It was a horrible event and is hardly remembered well enough.
Jonathan Veres Dec 2012
Come, gather 'round, my fellow soldiers.
Nay, come gather 'round as brothers.
For you who fights alongside me is my brother.
Hark, a foul enemy prowls at our borders.
This ogre of an army threatens and tramples all, but not us.
They have oppressed all others, but not us.
We are the last stand my brothers.
This ground upon with we reside
Will be sewn with blood.
True! Blood will be spilt!
Bleed, and I shall bleed!
Fight, And I shall fight!
Draw your swords with me, men.
And we shall conjure up a threatening, deafening noise.
A sound so devastating, that the deepest, strongest
              War Drums of hell can not conjure.
It is the cry of a nation united.
A country that bleeds as its people do
To say "we," not "I."
For we sacrifice with each other.
My brothers,
I bid you, stand
And march for honor, glory, your wives, your families,
And your Freedom!
This is just how I imagined I would speak to my soldiers if I was a leader, king, general, etc. Just a little thing I thought would bring someone to scream in defiance and strength.
Jonathan Veres Nov 2012
don't read
till you get

I've never done this before
I think we should just be friends
It's nothing you did or didn't do
There has been a lot on my mind
And I don't think it's fair to you
If it continues
And I don't feel the way I used to
I understand if you don't want to talk to me
I know you're going to be upset
         And I know I'm horrible
I'm sorry
Very Sorry
I didn't want to hurt you
I understand if you hate me now
I still want you in my life

*I'm sorry
These are actually the words from a break-up letter I was given my sophomore year of high school. I was re-reading it for nostalgia's sake, and began to change it. The words are pretty much the same. This is the result.
Jonathan Veres Nov 2012
There exists A Question.
A Question beaten down by
Scientists, et cetera.
A Question oversimplified,
Over time.
A Question under-appreciated
A Question too simply asked
Without preparation for the answer.
Without knowledge of its contents.
Without trust in its meaning.
A Question asked
But not fully perceived.
A Question as to what is
Rather than what it does.
A Question who's answer
Is as complex as its source.
A Question who's action
Is stronger than its being.
I love this question.
I hate this question.
But, I can only do my best to answer.
Because, after all, 'tis only
A Question.
Jonathan Veres Nov 2012
A glass in my hand and a cheer on my lips
Of a triumphant song to sailing ships.
Before long, I see no more,
And my stumbling body hits the floor.
Jonathan Veres Nov 2012
The Bell rings.
Forms rush past.
                                                     ­            Stand still.
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