some days I grieve alone
as sunshine sounds obscene no help or match for rain not caring where it goes to leave a chequered scene the clouds hide their intent build-up to manic heights and storms attack our land to savage crumbling shores and saturate the nights I stare in broken starts I've seen too much that stings with stoic eyes some pray and mop the mud-soaked rooms we wish our homes had wings
The **** shovelling soldiers are sent off to war To dig latrines so their soldier brethren can **** Not in peace but to empty their guts between fights Ukrainians have other ideas they want to **** them all Dead soldiers and ******* diggers means more Russians Who can no longer fight or hurt innocent Ukrainians How many Ivan cesspit ***** men have been eradicated? **** them all so the soldiers **** their pants before dying From Ukrainian bullets and high tech Allied weapons The more the better in this video game war
Eventful War Book 2
Nick Armbrister and other writers
“This isn’t working.”
What a funny way to say that you’re leaving A phrase that is arguably too simple for the mess it leaves behind “It isn’t your fault.” A cliche if I’ve ever heard one, And trust me, I’ve heard many over the years “I wasn’t ready.” A funny thing to say When you know at the beginning of anything Whether you’re ready for it or not And… “I don’t have time.” And that’s what it all comes down to, Isn’t it? You didn’t have time to deal with me Didn’t have time to communicate Didn’t have time to put in the work You didn’t want to MAKE time Because I guess you never really Cared about me in the first place
I'm still thinking of you, three months after everything, and I know it isn't fair to the people I love, but sometimes, you become addicted to the pain of wishing things had gone differently...
Summer fell in pale midnight
With ice crystals answering the nomads plight When silence fell on deafened ears A heart was impaled by ruby spears A kingdom of dust with castles of bone Risen amidst ruins of blackened stone Demons falling from heavens high Weeping at their brother's sight Then golden blood streamed and flowed In rivers where kings fearfully bowed A giant struck by lightning's blaze Glimmering in his flaming haze Burning, burning, he slowly dances away And a knight in the armour of dragons to slay Hunted by wolves with greenish gaze Is desperately searching for a safe place Fairies of burns float through the air Surrounding the phoenix's heir Golden diamonds grow out the trees And scatter in the ashy black breeze. A king atop his throne of wood Laughing madly about his brotherhood Oblivious of the strange smoke Rising from his burning choke His nose burns away, he no longer smells So he doesn't know about his hollow shell. War after war ravages his beautiful lands Waged by his corpse's stiff, dead hands A bird flies in the mountain's halls Trapped by it's stony walls A cage, a cage, his voice bides A cage safe from the demonic tides The serpent's fang bitten in a hero's knee Who lost his valour and tried to flee Justice is carried out only by death And in this world, there's no longer breath Amidst it all, a young man stands Looking at his icy flames A smile stealing upon his face Behold!, This is the madman's grace
Sometimes I just mumble some words and they begin to form rhymes.
That's basically how 99% of my poems are begun. So don't wonder about this one! XD
I looked out the window, goodness me
torrential rainfall in Germany on the TV a reporter said people are missing, many are dead aerial views of the devastation leave no room for the imagination they show the extend of the flood which left the area covered in mud horrendous stories and detailed accounts explain what happened and no one doubts this is a direct result of the climate change experts say, it's neither surprising nor very strange
outside, amid the rubble, stands a mound two
soldiers high, made of bricks and mortar, and cement and steel twisted up with everyday life, where tables and chairs and beds and blankets tumble carelessly, askew in the hot sun that beats ceaselessly against a refrigerator toppled on its’ head, and upon on a sewing machine halted mid-stitch, the needle poised above the hem of a flowered dress
this universe is too small for the both of us
no matter how far i run you are still too close this destruction is too devastating it permeates through to my core so forgive me as i cut this poisonous cord
I dreamt of lighter fluid
As desert rain Matchsticks Stricken against the wind Building into a phosphorus Shower A smiling inferno In the fast lane Hot cinder rims Giving joyride the third degree With fiscal intentions Of burning this Highway Right off the map
This mountain pass is an important link from Los Angeles to Las Vegas.