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"We fight war for peace!"
Contradictory.
"Their evil won't cease!"*
Based on what I see,

You bomb these countries,
Making refugees
Who just want to flee
This whole travesty.

People helplessly
Leave all these cities
Because you destroyed
Everything they've known.

With sinless lives, you wrongly toyed.
It seems "their evil's" not alone.
I realize people can debate on the topic of sin and who is or isn't guilty of it. However, there are a countless number of people who've lost their lives to war simply as casualties. What crime did they commit, exactly? Why should innocent people be punished for the wrongdoing of someone else?
Sorry to trouble you,
but there’s something I ought to tell you now that you’re here.
If you came here looking for an interesting poem to read,
I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.
Why?
Because this is not a poem.

This is not a narrative detailing a certain someone doing something in a certain time and place.
This is not a series of lyrics longing to be converted into music.
This is not a picture made up of a thousand words – or thousands for that matter.

This is not a fancy epic or tragedy or comedy bound by the treacherous laws of stanzas.
This is not an ode to a pre-existing memory – or several memories for that matter.

This is not a set of verses born free from the daunting laws of stanzas.
This is not even a collage of pre-existing poems mixed and matched to the heart’s content.
Simply put – this is anything but a poem.

Even if it was,
I doubt that it would be the kind of poem you would want to read.
You would most likely find better poetry somewhere else.
Here, there is no narrative, no subject matter and no context.
Therefore, if this was a poem,
it would be about absolutely nothing and have no meaning whatsoever to anyone.

That’s why I’m telling you that this is not a poem.
That’s why I’m advising you to look for a real poem elsewhere.
But, no matter what I say,
you wouldn’t listen to me anyway, would you?

I made it clear from the beginning that this is not a poem,
but you read it through to the end regardless.
Why is that?
Why would you take the time to read something about absolutely nothing?

Were you curious?
Did you just happen to stumble upon this while minding your own business and decide to take a peek out of curiosity?
Or were you bored?
Were you feeling desperate to find something completely different from the poetry you would normally read?

Either way,
this was never meant to be a poem waiting to be read.
And yet, in spite of that,
you read it anyway.
For that, I feel that the least I can do in return is say this:

Thank you.
No comment.

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
Kari Sep 2015
If my bed was bigger would you have laid with me
Will you excuse the squeeze in the place of comfortability
Our bodies close, replace our blankets with the heat
flowing, mellifluously reverberating, from within

My heavy mind, spiralling in self abhor
Dawdles on a pillow, simpering with decay
Solace I discovered in your arms instead, taming the uproar
The bane of your predicament, your spirits sway

The twilight of distraught tickles the hairs on my arms
But now comes the noon of melancholia.
My Ivy legs cripples your limbs, the bruises I see- constellations
Contradictory you lament, the cries a synergy of appoggiatura

A long time ago, you asked for my hand
Belittling the shards in my bossoms
Dismissing my remonstrance; to Hell with it
“I can bear it, I know I can.”

But you couldn’t. No, you wouldn’t
Your body has began to gnaw
The dilapidated bed creaks, your temper peaks
“I’m out, loving you isn’t the law.”
Drove away, broke the breaks
Closed my eyes... where am I now?
Perhaps I've sailed
too close to the sky.
Rowing and rowing,
unminding the splinters.
To bleed just a little
And bleed more and more.

If I'd fly an airplane,
I'd explore the seas
To chuckle underwater
watching a submarine burn.
Went a little insane
or so I was told.
Said they'll build me a fortress,
but they'd call it an asylum.

They'd always visit
when most are fast asleep
Running back and forth
as their tails touch the floor.
I love how their eyes glisten,
clustered stars in a black hole.
But they only saw me once
through the window on the door.

Freed at last!
Or so I thought.
They gave me shelter -
the finest they had.
Pinpointing I was happy
whilst their words deny
So mute the sound,
see how they open their mouths.

Maybe I was stable
so they let me be.
But the more I stay,
the more I drift away.
They may see the goodness,
but I only see the sins.
Crawled back to my asylum -
**the place where I should be.
© Cyrille Octaviano, 2015
ABadPenname Jan 2015
I dont want simple;
Feed me yourself in silver spoonfuls.
I want simple,

Lie to me,
and tell me
I am not an Animal.

   I am an analyst-dissecting details.

4Am fresh snowfall
I will remain capable!
Make first new footprints,

in a circle...
  Till I reach the middle.

I will remain incapable of
Tying my shoes.

   I am a participant in social warfare.

Looking forward:
Possible encounters &
Spring Rain.
Fantasizing both in measure.  

All I am to you is what you see, and
What you hear,
smell,
  touch,
    taste.

All you are to me so far
Is what I see, and what I hear;
So i am looking very hard,
   And I am listening very closely.

I want logic,
Tasting honey when I ******.
I want harsh confusion,
Complete absence of logic in it's essence.
Kissing a part of you that potties.

Now,
I can remain content in chasing my tail; I sleep balled up on top of the ocean, my clothes and fur strewn;

   Chewing paws in strange positions.

I want contradiction, an
Assurance of the Devil & a
Total disregard for ghosts.

Constructive chaos:
   Dress like ghosts on Acid and
Wear rollerblades.

I want my resumé to read:
>works well with others,
>great fighter, &
>An outstanding Lay.

I want to leave behind dreams,
I want to rent a room in your
dream bed&breakfast;,
Sometimes sharing yours, but always paying rent on time for mine.

Sometimes
swinging an axe against a rough stump,
Craving lemonade and
Spring Rain.

Part of me wants to grow old and
Mad, and sit by rivers; I could smoke ****** from a wizard pipe for my
Sore joints.

( I am alright with the possible outcome of Alone. )

[ I would rip my hair out,
Glue it to my body, & become
A boy in wolf's clothing. ]

I want creative destruction,
Mayhem,
borderline Mind ****.
Learning to pick the banjo half-decently.

   That Deliverance tune.

And walk around ski towns
   Scaring the **** out of some tourists
And other antagonists.
Sierra Nov 2014
I don't smoke he says
As the lit cigarette dangles from between his lips

I'll never lie to you he promises
With finger crossed behind his back

I love you drifts from his mouth
Before he goes home to his girlfriend

A walking contradictory
A breathing heartbreaker

The only one
Who truly understand who I am

And he is a walking contradictory

s.j.d

— The End —