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Shofi Ahmed Aug 2022
When the paintbrush of the day
is tucked away
and the sunset dipped
in the forest of the night
the moon wanes and waxes
down the hills of stars  
atop that shady wrap.

Who peeps in
where the sleeping beauty wakes
is any one guess
nor it's a amateur's business.

Far from the half lit astral canopy
any bucket lowered  
deep down on the ground
into a barrowed well of colours
comes up with a Joseph of Cannon
the firesome story goes on.
The same fire burner
is also the same fire extinguisher
Alexander the Great intrigued life water
cool serene cup of Ab-e Hayat elixir!
A Nov 2018
"You're nothing but cannon fodder,"
He sneers,
"You weren't made to love, sweetie.
You were made to ****.
To hurt.
To die.
And there is absolutely nothing that can change that."
Part One.
Rsebd Apr 2018
There’s residue on my torso, dark twisted and tainted by blood.
I’ve seen this once before, convinced that I would never be here again
The aesthetics are casualties of war.
I’ve lost control of the cannon in my chest.
Rsebd Mar 2018
I have a hole in my life where my love should be.
Every time I meet someone they take from me when they leave.

I’m beginning to become fragile.

Had I known love would be this violent,
I never would’ve allowed my vessel to enter this war.
Too much has been lost building memories with the enemy and there is no way to return from the heartbreak of defeat.

I’m not weak, just broken.
My sails are tattered and weary,
the cannon in my chest was once able to fire at will but now its battered condition has rendered it almost useless because it’s so heavily guarded.

The darkness that surrounds my heart is a protector of sorts,
it’s a heavy blanket of fog that keeps me hidden from the sadness in the world. It’s a reminder of the blood that was shed when I went to battle with her;
it’s the cover I need to rebuild the hull and set sail to reclaim the depths of the oceans that belong to me.

I Captain this ship and I will not be overthrown by the hands of women and I will not be defeated by those who betrayed me!
I refuse to drown in sorrow,
searching for treasures and trinkets that can only be found on a map that no man can read.

I’ve taken heavy fire but I will not surrender.
My ears will not burn by the cry of a siren’s song.

I was sentenced to a life of moving through galaxies of resentment,
cursed to bear the punishment for crimes committed by those who came before me.

I will not be punished for another man’s sin.
I will no longer give in to temptations set in the figure of a dishonorable woman.
Evils will no longer forsake me.
I shall never falter.
Gabe Ouellette Nov 2017
A one way ticket up,
the man never questioned it, then again, neither did I

Walking down the trail, grapes are raining and the pain in my stomach isn't waning, reality is collapsing all over again and all i can taste is almonds.

These boulders are spiraling out of control, but since when have I had control?
The head of the goat looks me in the eyes as the sun sets over the range,
"Man, you guys are brave", but why?
Am I on the edge?
Andrew T Mar 2017
give me a chance
to take you out
for one last night
in the city,

as the angels sleep on the sidewalks,
and the reptiles snore in the white house.

I'm crying alone
while your friends check their phones,
smoke their vapes,
and Brady the dog nudges my leg
with his snout,
soft as a napkin
wiping breadcrumbs off a table.

Chipotle before we write diary entries
for our children who look like your
ex-boyfriend. Tell them stories
past their curfew,
as their heads cloud with dreams,
where nothing but beauty blooms,
and sadness goes to pasture,
to be cooked on a rotisserie,
and spit out into bits.

like your flesh when it's been burnt by a lighter.
so listen up,
finish your game of FIFA,
then make me laugh,
so that I could forget about yesterday's fight.
some kind of permanence
a ****** in the

slow decomposition
tender restoration

it's place a drift
as if
coalescence made it
float through trees

within. the charcoal maker
the makers wife
and scurrying creatures
with feet and paws

without. smoke. wisps of
first industry leading to
harvested piles seasoning
by breathing clamps.

points of turf covering
designed stacks. an inferno
strangled by it's master
briar hanging loosely
tasting tobacco while listening
for betraying crackles and looking
for beacons of yellow showing as cracks
in dried earth.

fire here is burning money.
burning time

they have none to spare

behind him stacked in sacks
charcoal dry and ready for
Jack the cannon maker.

where finally the fire suppressed by
the maker would burn in forced
air with anger enough to
melt iron. Blast the sky with
sparks and toast Jack's leather.

in the woods the smoke rise and fell
while the master

the whispering clamps
in a clearing.
first industry. Charcoal making for blast furnace
Brent Kincaid Jan 2016
Fools blather about the glory of the fight
And don’t hear the mothers crying at night.
The wives of those marauders on the roam
Cry because their husbands can’t come home.
The children of these battle-addicted men
Go away, eyes ashine, never to return again.
And still the moneyed few, urge on toward
Yet those godlings never pick up a sword.

Mandates from government palaces abound
But not as many as the dead on the ground.
People are expendable to the military,
There are no pensions in the cemetery.
It’s all about honor they tell the press.
Leaving someone else to clean the mess.

Fight for liberty and freedom, they say.
They really mean die for them every day.
It’s all about profit and always was.
It’s that and no more noble cause
When a nation not being attacked
Falsely claims they’re striking back.
Then goes on to leave thousands dead
So they can wear a crown upon their head.

If you see no words of shame in this
Then you have found what is amiss.
These people are not motivated by grace.
They have the look of evil upon their face.
They already own most of what is here
But they keep a running tally all year.
As too much is not enough they crave,
Even if that puts us all in our grave.
Julia DeFoor Aug 2015
I smoke cigarettes to deaden the taste of you against my teeth.
You are.
You will be.
You were the only one.

The bile rises up into my throat like swords slicing the flesh of innocent men.
The rage contaned in me is that of a cannon in the breeze.

I am light.

You are dead.

I loved you with passion.
Red roses.
Satin sheets.
A racing heart.
And a jealous mind.

You slipped through my fingers like hot wax in icewater.
Your name tears my muscles and breaks my bones.

Showers made me feel clean.
Now I'm covered in oil.
I'm drenched in the feeling of your sweat against mine.
The sound of your breath in my ear shatters my reality.
It throws my mind back into a cyclone filled with pretty things you said.
And all of the lies that dripped out from between your lips.

I thought you cared..
I thought we meant something.

We were nothing greater than myself.

We were nothing greater than the air we breathed.
And the wars we set inside ourselves.
Copyright Julia DeFoor 2015. All Rights Reserved.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
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