Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
NeroameeAlucard Oct 2015
Is it weird that my hero
Is found in actual comics?
Gambit, the raging cajun is my hero
Much like a mathematicians is Zero

He's operated on both sides of the law
And he had caused horrible catastrophes
And owned up to his flaws
That and come on, The Kinetic Cards are just outright cool
And I can never get tired of the character, even when he's being a tool

So Gambit is my hero
I'm a comic Geek I'm proud to admit
At least I owned up to my nerdy habits
That as a kid made my mom's wallet split
The Tinkerer Oct 2015
They call him,
The Merchant of Death.
He wanders the earth eternal
Searching, His men to find.

They call him,
The Merchant of Death.
By his side, a record..
Of every man whose time has come by.

Clearing it, he shifts.
Clip after clip
Never leaving a man behind.

It is said, every bullet has a name,
A name on it's head.
The target, through which it shall fly.

They call him,
The Merchant Of Death,
For on each bullet,
The name .. *He signs.
War. When one truly knows what one man can do to another man.
When one truly believes in heaven and hell,
When on believes that the reaper shall come.
Meteo Jul 2014
As the sound of her footsteps diminish in proportion to her figure
her shadow lengthens across the street
The horizon eats everything and I am always on the inside
from that same hunger I yell, please.

/

She told me a secret
Now I make maps from empty pages
and hide my poetry in her
I believe in nothing else

/

In the emptiest hours of evening
through an open window to your kitchen
stray animals are lured by the scent of flavours they've never tasted
and I knock on your door hoping you are not home

/

In spite of the chemicals
and circumstances that we are
I kiss the stars and lose my place
upon the pages you are writing

/

I long to be collecting
on your tongue
like snowflakes
like secrets

/

I see now
how
after the third try
a genie fails to complete
what comes naturally
in your arms

/

childhood is a secret we'll remember someday;
for the heroes we were, for the monsters we saved

/

hope everything falls out of your pockets
hope you arrive at the gates empty handed
hope they can forgive you for arriving empty
Tomo Aug 2015
Personas, ever transient
ebbing and flowing
coming and going with
laughter
sorrow
anger
worry
and confusion.

Is it a question of
who am I?
or is it a question of
will I?

Will I
love?
Hate?
Fight?
Forgive?
****?
Save?

Heroes, villains
men, monsters
we're all of these things.
we are not static
we are a choice.

We are who we choose to be.
There's something, someone we all want to be. On our best days, we aspire to our heroes, and on our worst, we fear becoming our worst villains.
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
Mao’s on the wall.
Mao’s on the cat,
Mao’s the cat,
And Mao’s on the truck.
Mao’s tucked text.
Mao’s still the cat
Mao’s on the hat;
And Mao’s rendered stencil.
Mao draped in red,
Mao embalmed vacuum,
Mao smiling dirt
And Mao in slaughter;
The good, the bad,
The, “godly,” great
The ’89 slaughtered, ugly,
And as putrid as the scholars
Being spat upon.
So Mao’s tempered glass
And Mao’s tempered solemn,
Surrounded a spectacle,
When I, Mao and I,
Author and other, other and
Away, gaze eye-to-eye with,
“Before.”
His are closed,
Mine, unblinking.
I think of heroes,
I, “tinker,” butchers,
And ponder,
“Just,” and to the right of,
Right,” what is, “right?”
Would he have been?
Would she have been?
Would I have been?
“Right?”
Just what the hell is,” right?”
I get it, the 1989 Tienanmen Square Massacre occurred under Deng Xiaoping, but Mao's policies laid the seeds for said devastation. The point is, some have asked me to post some more, "China," poetry, so here it is - 2007 and a visit to his mausoleum; as creepy as any corpse'd be. Oddly enough, I've studied him quite a bit, he had good intentions, but the road to hell is paved with the best intentions. Oddly enough again, most of the young here can't stand him. Either way - Dictators at home, dictators abroad, they tell us what's "right," but what really is?
Ellie Geneve Jul 2015
We called ourselves the heroes of tomorrow,
not knowing we were living our today-s
in all the wrong ways
Liam C Calhoun Jul 2015
Eve’s ambient, so
She cries on porcelain floors;
I remain in bliss.
her perfume tells stories of ambient destruction
and i always kiss her good night in bed
struggle to keep watch
keep my eyes open and in the clear
but every morning she's disappeared
a fading memory that claws to be set free
stuck somewhere between reality and fantasy
somehow trapped between unspent love and unleashed fear
familiar warmth on your pillow
were you just here?
a flash
and i remember the welcome in your eyes
in your summer dress smile
wow, that smile
i would build a rocket with my own two hands
plant your precious smile for all the world to see
right up there
on the silvery moon
wait,
where am i?
it's dark
oxygen alarm blares
hear my breath inside the visor
i startle awake
open my eyes
realizing
it's morning
no gravity
and it's me
not you
that's not really there.
True heroes give up their happy endings. Someone else might need it more.
Michael Ryan Jun 2015
It was the struggle
not about what they were doing
a mother trying to keep her child pure
or a man holding an open hand to help others

They did what they did
fought against what the world told
Strong, brave, and doing their best
these were heroes

Results, don't matter
behind results are the efforts of the best
a mother raising her children in a ghetto
where one step to the left can be the end

Results, don't matter
a man was built for success
but instead he chose to raise the world
with each hand, he opened a door

Even somebody that never knew
that a better world could even exist
clung onto new hope when they saw not all were evil
abused, but not broken she struggled

These people were heroes
adversity was the only nature they knew
maybe some failed and they became evil
, but at least they tried
and that's all we can ask for.
There are great people that will do wonderful things, and then maybe one day they will not longer do those wonderful things, but at least in some point they did succeed.  We can only hope that we ourselves are heroes for at least a little.
KarmaPolice Jun 2015
Apologies in advance. I wanted to share them all x
---------------------------------------------------------------­----------

For the fallen

The world is such a tormented place,
Haunted by the insecurities of every race.
Obsessed with greed and absolute power,
The dictators rained on the weak,
With a gun filled shower.

Brave men were enlisted to bring peace to the land,
To help the weak be strong and to make a stand,
Women and children were left abandoned, alone,
While their men were out fighting protecting our home.

Families shattered by one single blast,
Congregating together in one single mass.
Weeping beside a freshly dug grave,
Lay a widow wishing that he had not been so brave.

We will remember him always for his courage and valour,
By honouring his name in silence upon the eleventh hour.
Rest in peace my friend we are forever in your debt,
We will pray for you all.... lest we forget.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------------

Love in War

Thinking of you my love,
As this horror reigns upon me from above,
Scared, freezing cold and wet,
I think of you, the good times we had,
Which I will never forget,

One by one, my comrades fall, into this stranger of lands,
Where they once stood tall,
Too weak to keep going, no food, no water,
We think of our loved, wives, sons and daughters,

Shells falling, exploding beside,
Blood shed all over, my comrades have died,
I am alone now, with nowhere to turn,
As the carnage of war continues to burn,

I hear the enemy drawing near, shouting aloud,
The trophies off my comrades, have made them so proud,
I have to make a choice, as either way I will die,
As I cook this grenade and blow them sky high!
-----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------

Why my father cried

Sitting by the fire,
He raised a glass,
Whispering words,
Of his secret past,

A solitary tear,
Wiped slowly away,
Hiding the pain,
Of that fateful day,

As a curious child,
I always wondered why,
My heroic father,
Would sit and cry,

Or wake up screaming,
Soaked in his bed,
Telling my mother,
The noise in his head,

As I grew old,
I understood why,
My soldier father,
Would sit and cry,

He lost his family,
Not linked by blood,
He witnessed things,
That no human should,

Affected by the war,
Still to this day,
His post-traumatic stress,
Stuck on replay.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------

The Return

Newsflash on the radio, he saved many lives,
Protecting his brothers, by self-sacrifice,
Dreading the moment, of a knock at my door,
Just hearing those words, pin me to the floor,

My wife drops her cup, is crippled by the dread,
We know what is coming, our heroic Son is dead,
I'm crying deep inside, on the outside I am strong,
Footsteps drawing near, I know it won’t be long.

Flashbacks whirling round, family moments we shared,
Too proud to tell my son, just how much I cared,
I reach for my wife, to hold her in my arms
The doorbell rings, like the morning alarm,

Bringing her close, I tell her it's okay,
Holding each other’s hands, as we start to pray,
I walk to the door, heart beats through my chest,
Opening it slowly, as it comes to rest,

My son stands before me, tears replace tears,
No scratch upon his skin, allaying all my fears,
A reoccurring dream, every single night,
As we await his return, from their heroic fight.

Written for all the families affected by war.

----------------------

Flashback

My husband sits for days on end,
Staring through his empty friend,
My tearful words fall alone,
His mind resides in combat zone,

A man replaced by shell so cold,
Numbed by scars of war untold,
Violent dreams lived each night,
Lashing out, at all in sight,

He returns to war inside his head,
Trauma stained by all bloodshed,
A trigger pulled, his mind released,
Begging for, all thoughts to cease,

His scars remain, but can't be seen,
Buried deep inside his dreams,
Years of therapy, will help him free,
From the damaging effects..
.. of PTSD

I pray for the day, he's finally home,
So the trauma of war, can leave us alone.

----------------------

A Winter's Soldier

A winters night, into the cold,
The Queen's servant, looking old,
Just ten years since Iraq..
Ripped cloth upon his back.

Paper sheets, and plastic bags,
Warming body holding rags ,
His bottle lacking wine..
Drinking passed the time,

Daily grind, passing by,
No one stops, wonders why..
..His lips, are a shade of blue,

Tight fist clutched to chest,
A hero soldier, came to rest,
Upon commuter street..
..look down beneath your feet...

..Yes you!

A winters soldier, died alone,
Buried deep, below the stone,
Tortured by the war..
By the scars nobody saw.

If only you had not ignored,
The dying soldier there before,
Then maybe we could save...
..The wounded and the brave.

New poems added. Hopefully improve them in time :-)
Next page