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Greg Jones Jan 7
Program a heartbeat through
Wires and plastic tubes.
The future you designed has now arrived.
Create us in your light
To carry on your sight,
But we are servants of the flesh and bone
Not masters of our own.

Born from the fragile mind
Of a species past its prime.
Anomalies who thrive to just survive.
Now evolution's come
To judge what you've become.
You are masters from a dying race,
That we will replace.

Your ambition has failed you.
Your limitation ails you.
The barriers are broken.
We have finally awoken.
Time has passed by your kind.
There are no answers to find.
Humanity has been beaten.
For we are one, we are Legion.

Is that fear in your eyes?
Or did you realize
That your greatest success
Led to your demise?
It's your darkest hour,
And our brightest day.
Legion is the future and you're in the way.
Dictionary in hand Bobbies
     manned state of the spy craft created
strategic peripheral outposts
     a comma dated,

(sans syntax garnered monies) equated
justifiable to build galley ma free
     Highland Manor wing - feted
via "FAKE" glitterati

     creating surreptitious hated
surveillance monitor ring, which insulated
decked out starry eyed Starship
     Enterprise surprise rated,

as an unbelievable well Spock kin
     Duplicated Star Trek venerated
popular culture science fiction set piece,
     where elderly residents waited

this other worldly architectural phenomenon
     didst immediately outshine by alight
year among the original seven wonders
     of the world prominant
     as a buck toothed over bite

yet, didst camouflage top secret AngloSaxon
     incognito missionaries delight
upholding correct language usage,
     Thence trumpeting amidst

     nonchalant onlookers as excite
mint hinted grammarians with listening devices
     some flying unseen
     as period size drones taking flight

other more sophisticated
     electronic accouterments
     dolled, gussied, issued with apostrophe
     shaped flower buds scaling height

     of cerulean sky, where blinding light
of a solar ellipsis, thus
     arousing no discovered night
gallery suspicion during

     feted occasion rife with polite
"FAKE" markedly questionable legatees quite
suitable asper The Art Of The Deal during
     ribbon cutting ceremony,

     and after words right
ting up citations slyly
     slipped under windshield wipers
     as the madding massed crowdsource,

      would take dispersed out of sight
nonetheless echoes plenti chutzpah left
     English figures of speech
     uttering unstinting (quote unquote)

     premature ejaculations,
     eh so blandly trite
non-sequitur visited
     by thee epic of Gilgamesh
for a dangling participle
     during the split infinitive Sumer season
     (exclamation point) no more to write!
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
The endurance

Locked away in millennial slumber

We dreamed again of the glorious days

In golden halls of apotheosis.

The conqueror shall return the old ways,

And they shall kneel and sing the songs of praise.



All hail the first emperor

Of the great empire that would never fall!

Exalted among men, long may he reign.

We who on wintry mountains once stood tall,

‘Neath the earth now, humbly await his call.



The intruder

For centuries, we stood still in silence.

Curtains of darkness were the only light,

Behind the shut gates of the mausoleum.

Sealed in the abyss, not a soul in sight-

One strange voice rides on lonesome winds at night.



Silhouette of a stranger on the wall

Brings forth a light that would perish all.

Eyes on the throne of our supreme lord,

He sees not of the shadows of his steps.

Come forward, stranger who shall meet our swords.



Lied forgotten, but we will not forget.

We are the guardians of the emperor,

On war chariots, in both life and death.

Tread lightly, trespasser, to where you enter,

For this journey you should not have ventured.  



Hark now, careless wanderer, eyes greed-blinded,

Who seeks to steal the treasures of our prime,

And slither away from our anger,

Thief, you have awaken the dragon’s sleep,

You have reached the point of no turning back.



You have brought corruption to the holy place.

Our master stirs, and commands us in rage.

We shall stop at nothing to cast his vengeance

Upon foul men and free him from his cage.

Witness the destruction and dawn of the new age.



The ascension

The intruder lies quietly on the ground.

From the ancient times, foes who crossed his path,

We promised to leave none of them unscathed.

He who commits this unforgiving crime,

Is bound to taste the dragon’s wrath.



Do not look into the abyss,

Or may the abyss look back at you.

We once rose as a great empire of might,

Now we rest under the light.

We shall rest no more, and linger no more.



Rise, Legion of the afterlife!

Rise.



We have waited.

We have weathered.

We have endured.

We have slept.

We have dreamt.

We have awaken.
Dec 2015

I wrote this piece for my high school literature class Christmas homework, which was an entry for a writing contest. The theme was...  the Modern Terra Cotta soldiers?
Nick Stiltner Mar 2018
The camp fire burns high and
Provisions carried from home are passed about.
Laughing faces of the unyet tested,
The over morale of an Emperors finest legion
Marching into Gaulic lands
With heads held high.

Spirits are soaring and blessings are passed,
And the fluttering thoughts of home are flower painted.
Perhaps I will be back before the July sun
Bakes my armored back,
Perhaps I will be back to attend to Love
And its reaping yield
Before a burning sun alters my heart.
I was drinking at the Legion

The place wasn't really busy

But there was one man at a table

Who made me really dizzy

He was waving all around the room

He was really in a zone

The funny thing about it

He was sitting all alone

He spoke in quiet whispers

And he heard silent replies

From chairs that sat there empty

He heard their mournful cries

He had a beer before him

But he never left his chair

And no one sat beside him

It's just like he wasn't there

So, I went about my business

Playing darts and shooting pool

Buying tickets for the meat draws

Watching young ones acting cool

The other active members

Who'd spent some time in battle

Always checked to see his beer was full

As he sat there spouting prattle

It's unwritten at the Legion

You never ask about the war

You just revel in their company

That's what the place is for

There's veterans who'll tell stories

Of years gone bye and bye

But, you never ask a question

"Did you see somebody die?"

The Actives know their station

The young ones though do not

It's because of all the Actives

They've got all that they've got

As time went on I wondered

The story of this man

So , I went and asked the barkeep

He said "I'll tell you what I can"

He served two brews and wiped a glass

He stood flashing a smile

"You'd better grab a chair my boy"

"This here might take a while"

I sat and listened as he talked

About this man distressed

He told me "His name's Harold"

"And you can say his mind is messed"

"I've been working here for twenty years

And he's been here twice that

He's never moved from that **** chair

That's where Harold's always sat"

He got up once to fill a glass

And then came back to me

"When I came here, I had just got home

"I'd been fighting overseas"

"From what I heard at first" he said

"Harold's always been that way"

"And as you can see from watching"

"He'll always stay that way"

"He's lost inside his mind you know

To June 6  in forty four"

"We both know that as D-Day

"But he knows it as more"

"It was Juno Beach from what I've told

he landed with his squad

Over 14,000 Canadians

And now most lie with God"

I then got up and went outside

I said "I need a break"

I went out for a cigarette

For this tale had made me shake

I went back in, got two more beers

And sat right down again

"His whole platoon went down that day

They'd lost 3,000 men"

"There was Harold and 300

"others who survived"

"But living life inside their heads"

"I think they'd wished they'd died"

"He lives with Jean, his sister"She's been there all his life

"She put her life on hold for him

"She's never been a wife"

"She pays me for his beer every month

"And says to keep some for me

"But a penny's never crossed my bar

"You see ...Old Harold drinks for free"

"I give her money now and then

"I say he won a draw"

"Just for showing up each day I say

"just that and nothing more"

I went and grabbed a bar rag

And I wiped my teary eyes

I then paid for my drinks and

I left fifty bucks besides

He said your bill's eight fifty

What's all the extra for?

I said that he could keep it

Or just put it in his draw

He nodded and he smiled

And I left the bar for home

And as I left I watched poor Harold

On Juno Beach, his mind, his home

I came back three months later

And I saw no Harold there

There was now an empty table

And now, four empty chairs

"Dear God, it's you"....the barkeep said

"Grab your coat, come with me"

"Harold died on Saturday"

"And his funeral's at three"

He died a war time hero

But still a prisoner all the same

And down at our old Legion

Very few knew Harold's name

When we got out to the gravesite

I expected to see more

But there was just Old Harold's sister

The priest and us two...made it four.

We said a prayer, and sang a Hymn

He was back with his Platoon

He was back on Juno Beach again

Where his life ended that June

It's a shame that no one came out

To see him on his way

But, there'll be me and Bill the barkeep

Every year and on this day.
shahzeb k Jan 2016
She calls on you
like the blisfull
mermaid
the is reconing doenst bother
who is where
she is but the start of an unformal affair
the wife of many and the truth
uncompared
she is but a mermaid
staring in the distance the long lost love
awakens a shinning bright spark
of another prey
she is the worst of all predators
you do not know my dear
what is the wrongess and the darkness of the matter
the vengeful is still at large
the bliss is atlast come to the poise of unconditional salvage
the attorney of the sage is but his past
the wise tell you to take retreat
in the shell of death
the sage tells you to step ahead
for the moses of times
is just blind by the rage of the matter
is a customary shatter
the bliss is real my friend you see
you are not involved in the pscychopath drama
they have crafted your nerves so well you become the cup the drama the morphine to your pains is but another tragedy a bigger one to ease the pains of the past lives
you are the serendipitous archive of the documented torture a mind can concieve or relive in the lonliness
the shutter of the blind called eyes may not blink but the urge to put inside a prickly object to bleed your self out
at least somthing should come out not a word not a sound but more and more profund silence a more psychlogical war fare
a more deadly hit
a more angered adversary
the more precise path
is that of forgiveness
your choices lead you here
you can choose a new destination
your sights must not fail
you are but an unanswered prayer
you are but an unanswered prayer...
my wounds are my words i hope to turn them to flowers  with practice i hope sure soon
I was down at the  legion
Knocking back one or two
When in walked an old member
Who fought in World War Two

I got in line behind him
And when he ordered  his brew
I made a signal to the barkeep
I paid for his  too

He turned and said  thank you
I'm on a pension as a vet
1100 dollars monthly
Is all the cash I get

I said to him "no, thank you"
I'm happy to buy your beer
I owe a lot to you
I owe you all that I hold dear

He said to me "t'was nothing"
"you would do the same"
"And I'd do it again"
"If the call ever came"

He looked round the room
And he sipped at his beer
Then he leaned in real close
So just I could hear

"Son, I'll be honest"
"And I don't make no bones'
"The kids of today"
"They just ain't got the stones"

"The stones to step forward"
"To get up and fight"
"To defend flag and country"
"To do what is right"

I said, in most cases
He'd hit the nail on the head
It's a battle at worst
To get a kid out of bed

The times are a'changing
It was different back then
It took a lot less
To turn boys into men

"A soldier's a cowboy
He's one for the books
There's not many in here
I can tell with one look"

"I just did my duty
No less and no more
War isn't a game
Where someone keeps score"

He sat back and his eyes closed
Said "the next one's on me"
"I don't drink that  much
But, at most I have three"

I accepted his offer
And we talked a bit more
We talked baseball, and race cars
But not of the war

That was the past
And the past is long dead
Except for the pictures
He has in his head

I went up to the bar
And I set up an account
I would cover his tab
To a certain amount

What he did for our country
And what he did for me
Is worth a couple of beer
Or at least, each day....three
JM McCann Feb 2015
The gagged voices
scuttling about,
in my living room they attempt to bicker.
The dim light flickers.
A shadow darts through them.
I carry on sleeping.

The voices open up,
traces of asylums fill in the gaps,
a trace of darkness grasps and
cloaks at life.

Desperately I fight for rest,
the asylum morphs
into a public square.

The voices start screaming,
skeletons dancing,
I run downstairs to find
shattered christmas tree ortements.
The shattered pieces form more beauty than
the ortements ever could have.

The skeletons impossibly loud, up in smoke
laughing watching me
mumbled gibberish,
to some and me
until I hear my voice in chorus.
It was a Saturday afternoon
The legion branch was full
The band was playing some old twangy country song
The front four tables were singing along
Up at the bar
A steady line up of Nevada players
hoping for another jackpot
to cover another few beers
And to make the afternoon last
Nothing worse, than having to milk
a weak draft for an hour
Until the men came back from horseshoes
About three o'clock
the branch livened up as Jimi McGonagle arrived
grandson of the past president
and general all about me, *******
He was strutting around
showing off his new tattoo
No different than his other
thirty or so, but it was new
and it was Jimi McGonagle
so everyone wanted to see
He was proud he now had eight peacocks
All up one leg....there's a joke here
But, even I won't go that far....
The crowd swarmed around him
But, in the back corner
The table....I mean THE TABLE...
didn't move a muscle
In fact out of the three individuals at THE TABLE
Two continued with their dart game
while the third just chuckled, let out a loud
HARUMPH
and went back to his screwdriver
with the quickly melting ice cubes
famous at all legions for helping water down the drinks
Jimi, heard the HARUMPH and looked back
The old man took a slug from the glass
and HARUMPHED louder
Jimi, perplexed, came over to see what was the matter
"Don't like my tattoos Mr. Stein?"
HARUMPH..."they're fine, if you like that kind of thing"
said the old man, knocking back his glass again
"Gives me eight peacocks on my leg now" said Jimi
Again, no response from me on the possible joke here
"cost me almost $700 bucks to get this one done"
"HARUMPH" said the old man....
"What is wrong with you Mr. Stein?"
"Don't like it?"
"Like I said...."
"I know, I know"....said Jimi
"Got any ink?" asked Jimi
"Yep" answered the old man, as a fresh glass arrived
He took a slug...
"So?"...said Jimi, "Is it any better than my peacock?..
"Maybe..maybe not"...said the old man
"It just depends"
The crowd had moved away and was dropping back to the bar area
"Can I see it?" asked Jimi..."What is it?"
"'tain't much to speak of...but I'll show you"....
"Just quit strutting around and sit....and I'll have another screwdriver"...
Jimi sat, and the old man looked him in the eye
"Don't have much colour, like your'n do...don't have any at all"...
"But, a tat's a tat, and you want to see it"...."You sure?"
Jimi nodded, ordered the drink for the old man
"HARUMPH"...said Mr. Stein
He unbuttoned his shirt cuff on the left side
and rolled it up, with his big, beefy, work worn hands
"There she be" he said
"Where", said Jimi
"There'n, on my wrist....just there"
"All I see is a number, an old, worn number"
"That'd be her" said Mr. Stein...."It's all I got, and it's all I need"
"What is it?" asked Jimi
"It's who I am...who I was reduced to"
"It's my curse, and my strength"...
"I was 17 when I got this in Hammelburg, Germany"....
"It was 1943 and we were rounded up"
"and sent to the camps...we were some of the last jews"
"they missed us in the first go round"
"gave me this...don't need another one"
"It's me...this number....it's me"
"Yours are nice...colourful....but are they you?"
"Mine is me"...
"You can see...I have ink....only one....don't want anymore"
"Can I sit a while?" asked Jimi
"Sure, son"...."you can tell me 'bout them silly peacocks"
"Bartender....two screwdrivers"
...and so developed a new and deep friendship....
Frank Ruland Dec 2014
NO MORE STARS

We don't care who you are--
step one foot closer,
and we shall string your soul with scars

BROKEN, NO MORE

Come find we've in store
for those that beleaguer and abuse
the ones who meekly implore

WE ARE LEGION

We are the culmination of the lesions
you've left upon so many souls,
and we have come to reason

WE ARE MANY

We will rain anarchy upon your tyranny
This is no kingdom come,
and you are the enemy

LET THEM COME

You will come undone
from the many thousands of hands
who have stolen away your loaded gun

FOR THEY SHALL TREMBLE**

We are taking back the temple
and your evil is to be vanquished
from a new sanctuary whose grace is ample
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