Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
There was a big heart that beat steadily in the name of duty
It beat strongly in the name of love
It beat for years beyond expectations
Until the evil crows descended
First they took a little nibble here and there
It must have tasted good
For they started taking bigger bites
Restricting the rhythm of the beating
A new flight landed to join the feast
And there was a year long frenzy
Soon there was nothing left but scraps
Pulsing weakly, yet refusing to die
So they got the elephant in the room
To stomp across it several times
And that worked just the way they hoped
What was left was scraped up off the floor
And thrown out with the garbage.
I've just been given notice in the most evil way that the job I love, that has been my whole working career, will be taken away on Jan 1, which also happens to be my birthday. Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday to Lori
Sweetly reaching for my hand
A rattlesnake curls up in yours.
Smiling oh-so-carefully
To hide your poison pellet
Delivered with a kiss.

Platitudes and honeyed words
With fishhook barbs inside them.
Lies disguised as candy bars
Offered out with sticky fingers
Mostly crossed behind your back.

Promising that all is peaceful
And there’s no danger to be seen.
Alarms and sirens drown those words
And say my world is burning here,
And sinking in a morass there.

If only words were scimitars
To slash a way to truthfulness
And cut the evil from the hearts
That proclaim love for one and all
And secretly deliver hate.
Speaks for itself.
H  ow is it possible to have so much hate
A  midst all of those that I’m ordered to love.
T  orn by the need to stay here and fight-
R  eeling from weakness I thought I’d outlived,
E  dging towards a fall I must stop, I’m
D  odging the arrows, to keep keeping on.

F  rightened that I’m not as young or as smart,
O  lder than I ought to be at my age, I’m
R  emembering when I wielded weapons of youth.

M  y  armies of wit were were invincible then,
Y  et now only shadows of warriors past.

E  nemies bumping the sore spots they caused me, with
N  ever a thought or respect for my toil, I
E  nvy their callous neglect of my pain and
M  emorize odes to the loathing I feel.
I   light bonfires of hatred and hope not to get burned
E  scaping through tunnels of madness and fear into
S  afer environs where I can breathe free.
I love acrostics and have written many of them.  This was written after a VERY bad day at work.  For James.

— The End —