_

my eyes

crisp from the day's cruel sun
burnt by devastation's fires
scorched by images of relentless horror

take refuge
in this late-evening fog
settling heavy as a shroud

clinging
opaque
mercifully obscuring

I am sustained
by this damp pall
that descends cool upon me

wraps 'round my pained countenance
fevered with fatigue
twisted with despair

drawn
by a faded memory of honor
a faint echo of duty
a frayed thread of human dignity

I stumble
broken by this sin I shoulder

not of my making
but of my charge

my sin

unleashed by others
who would impose their delusions
to advance their evil agenda

those who would rule the world

a world now broken
corrupted by their illusions
spoiled by their vanity

a world in chaos
as darkness deepens

this nocturne
I have but this ruin-riddled
highway of blood

of dying dreams
violated innocence
merciless destruction

of horrific death

this path of my duplicity
of my guilt
my shame

and so
I stumble on
bent by the weight of this falling evening
drowned in its drenching sorrow

my spirit hollow and empty
I slink exhausted
into this coming night
and
the next night
and
the night that follows
that always follows

captive on this road of murder
of brutal
human
arrogance

a prisoner
of this lost highway

seeking forgiveness

_


rob kistner ©  2009
This is a contemplation on the brutal, mind-wrenching horrors of war.
I've heard you before.
I can hear your tone and yet,
I can't define it's contour.

I  can't say I even used the word right cause I don't know how to explain this storm.

I've tried to interpret.
Believe me, I've tried to work with it.
But the more I think, the bigger it grows.

I wish to understand and help you out.
But what's the point if I can barely figure your thoughts.

I can't fix you and I can't help.
But I can learn and try
Just give me some time.
You don't know what to do anymore.
Sara Jun 6
It's a grey area
I might have wanted it at some point, but limp and helpless I just wanted it to stop.

I don't remember his face, but I remember his sweaty body on mine.
I wanted to leave but I couldn't move,
             I couldn't speak.

He probably drank as much as I did.
I shouldn't have stopped to talk to a man I didn't know.

I wonder if he remembers me.
Rose Moore May 24
You pray on the hurt,
too innocent to know of your tricks;
we know not of the worlds cruelty.
You violate our bodies as you do our rights;
take our freedom,
and take our pride.
But in our grief, we lie to ourselves…
for who would ever dig their nails into us,
like these scars we bear?
We are forever marked
by your sloppy lack of humanity.
We are defects of this world,
Never knowing love, for who,
would want to love a crooked soul?
Sincerely yours,

A Crooked Soul, left broken in Your greed.
If you know, you know.
Ya Boi May 21
I’ve lost you to passing infatuation

To a trap designed for you

A trap your playing into

Every meeting was articulated to swoon

His upbringing was a genuine obligation to a missing god

And he was incubated in his cage perfectly

Please for the love of me drag yourself out of his unpromising hive

You have no idea the sickness that comes from a sweet innocent little mind
Diana Caragea May 19
I wish I could be like them,
Curse of happiness,
Gift of being clueless
Maybe in another life;
Umbilical cord around a neck
Three, maybe four times,
So fragile, it might snap
Like a disquieting thin stick
In the hands of a bored child.
Insufflate the essence of life
Then take it back
Just like that;
Without permision, you see,
Like it belongs to me,
Even if it's still called stealing,
And belonged to me, not them,
Everyone misjudges me.

Sloppy steps on the floor
As they leave me out of breath,
Put on a glass, transluscent jar
Like it's nothing.
I yell, over again
"Give it back, give it back"
But they won't listen
Placing it on the dancefloor.
The lights went out,
Neon colors in the dark,
Dancing in chaotic pirouettes.
Crooked feet, nature's cacophony,
Someone stop them, right away,
Give my prana back!
Please, I beg for you,
To stop this nonsense right away
Before I die...
"The death of one man is a tragedy, the death of millions is a statistic."
-Joseph Stalin

This is for the unnamed.
This is for the unwanted.

This is for those who were never given a chance.
This is for them that live without a voice.
The ones who were never given a second glance.
This is for them who have no choice.

To those who watch out
But aren't watched out for
To those who pout
Because they don't have anything anymore

Let's raise a glass
Let's make this useless gesture
To appreciate those who won't last
To observe those who falter

Because there's nothing else we can do
For those unfortunate few
That have no one to turn to.
Appreciation is the only thing we can offer, and yet we so rarely do.
M.

O.

M.

Three insignificant letters come together to form the benefactor of life
Except the woman who presented me life
the woman who was meant to put me above all else in this world
The woman who's job description was to keep me safe, healthy, and happy for 18 years
Gave up in 12 and declared me a burden instead of a child
When kids ditched school in fear of bullies lurking for their prey
I fled to the bus stop 10 minutes early as my bully stood at my front door
Waiting to pounce on me with her newest criticism
Trapping me within the 4 walls where Im expected to be safe
your home is your sanctuary
Protection from the everyday injustices that lie outside your fortress of familiarity
But 4 walls can hide the cruel truth
That my home became my penitentiary
I, the sole prisoner
Locked in with my ruthless warden
And sure I was given hot meals and a bed
But what good are hot meals when you're told if you eat you'll be round as the plate they’ve been served on?
What good is a bed when sleep is unattainable
Because your mind is circling through the endless verbal torture you've been handed to by the one who should love you unconditionally
And your eyes refuse to shut because you crave to delay the hopeless inevitability of a new day of torment?
And how are you expected to find worth in yourself
When you have been buried in the landfill of your creator’s unjust cruelty
and she can no longer tell the difference between trash and child?
Not every mother is loving...
I wretch
My chest in my hands
So precious with its soft blue glow
The helpless weakened flickering

I reach out to the blur
Desperation overtaking
Each spinning around and onward
A cacophony of faces each more terrifying than the last
Laughing with their empty eyes
Each smile a twisted tear on the opaque visage
The cracked and blooded lips spit

Crawling, I offer my light

Fix it

Fix it


Please fix it

A swirling white cloak overtakes me
It’s gaping eyes and contorted smile
Staring through me apathetically like a worn mirror
It’s head snaps as it comes closer

I reach

The tangled tendrils twitch as they envelop my light
Empty holes looking at nothing
Growing darker
The tear twitches, bleeding
Turning downward

The hold loosens
My light discarded like the rest
The cloak dissipates back into the mass
Laughing again

The light flickers

I wretch

-[KW]
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