I still wish for you.
My heart don't exactly leap
When I see you
But other times
I drown
With necessity and hesitation
I unbuckle my heart
And steady my knees
This life indeed is a waning moon.

The piercing cold has frozen my hold.
As my breath mists in the wind, I lose my mind in my sin.
Why did I walk through the pitch black portal?
Why did I sell my innocence for a price that wasn't priceless?
I look into the mirror, my face is what I see.
Yet my eyes hold a darkness, how is this me?
So I turn in horror, step out for some air.
But from me escapes screams of unfiltered anguish 'til my voice is like a bear.
Why did I walk?
Why did I sell?
Let the cold take me.
It's warmer than my hell.

Combat....

though morbid in nature, there is a sense of beauty....

for example -
the bullet and it's chamber
the slickness of steel, and the power of the trigger
which together correlates the symphony of motion
from the time the trigger is pulled, to the
daunting escape of a bullet, and then finally to the ******* of it's victim.....

Quite morbid... yet hauntingly beautiful.....

Then come's the bullets quintessential cohorts

The Chemical and The Armored Car (a Tank)

The brutal barrage of steel cartage
crashing into unstable masonry
then the soothing smog of golden mustard gas...

The echoed shrieks, the violent shakes,
the ****** eyes and mucus filled noses
whose violent episodes finally conclude
when the eyes of death stare back at them...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

The finally... how can we forget the noble foot soldier?
his footsteps, silent to the earth....

out of the hysteria and chaos
two men, two weapons, and a whirlwind of emotion  
nationalistic pride, paranoid fear, and  scattered  tranquility...

A sign, as is to say....
"I don't want to fight, but I have to..."

Which all correlates in the ****** of the bayonet
a twinkle of blood, and then finally the gentle weeps...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

An empty house
quiet with the whispered shadows of the past
of memories twisting, jumping, laughing, and screaming in the dark.

Alone.

These loud vacancies in time,
that split and shift as though time had never frozen.
Where ghosts of feelings and happenings forget
that they have past.

Disappeared.

Underneath a thick layer of grime and dust,
unmarked for years to come, and years to pass.

Silence.

The overwhelming loneliness of a time,
a space,
a treasure trove of memories,
lost through abandonment and growing up.

Disturbed.

Briefly, quietly, by soft footsteps hiding in the dark;
taking refuge in the peace that comes with being surrounded
by those just like one’s self.
Where muffled tears may go unnoticed,
and quaking shoulders embraced by a sad feeling of nostalgia.

Sleep.

Falling gently sideways while curled up tightly,
hiding from the world a perceived weakness;
slowly,
gradually,
unwinding in a tear-stained weariness brought
upon by the harshness of our species.

Reluctance.

Stirring awake only to realize the inevitability
of going back into that cruel reality,
and wandering through the dust with a slow
shuffle,
avoiding it to the end.

Reality.

Is merely pretending to be alright,
to be perfect,
sane,
unaffected by one’s past or circumstance.
Lying to yourself until the very last moment,
but by then it’s too late.

Death.

What comes to claim us all,
no matter what we wish or who we are.
The only way to be truly free.

End.

Merely the beginning of a new story.

My demons
Follow me
Break me down
Until I'm nothing

They don't rest
And I can't hide
I've grown tired of
Running for my life

It's easier to let them in
To let all of my suffering
Seem to end

But I don't like it,
These words they say
I don't ever want
To play these games

Splintered shields and cracking swords lay all around me on these burning hills.
I stand alone, the last of my kind.

  Here I stand my wings dripping red, lifeblood staining my sword and my shield but also dripping from your head.
  A Valkyrie, an angel of Death
I hover over your waning Life waiting with baited breath.
  The fields once green,
now stained with your brothers and sisters now fallen,
blackened with blood and ash and flesh, of friend and foe alike.
    The last one left waiting to enter my halls,
you fought you won you gave it your all.
    Little Warrior, little ***** if I summon,
will you finally answer my call?

As you finally lay down your head,
I shall sing you the Valkyrie's lullaby of final rest.
Brave little warrior,
I shall sing you the lullaby of Death.

The river's current starts slow,
chilled streams trickling,
toes shifting, in the dark blue-gray;
almost unpleasant to the touch.

As she wades, the pull becomes stronger;
ice cold, it entraps her chest.

Slwoosh fwssh, she winces as the wind picks up,
and her mind goes still; resilient.

Drifting, her body gives way,
fwuomp, pssshhh.
Almost lifeless do her eyes wash,
away into the water's murk.

Like a ship stranded at sea,
her body struggles to withstand,
water filling her lungs like the hull;
her cheeks pale and wet.

Gasps break the water,
sending ripples as wide as her eyes,
and the tormenting storm laughs;

Each time it moves, grabs, without asking, takes without giving,
and she floats.

There is a cemetery in your heart worth minding,
Where the bones of your lovers are always grinding,
The path in is simple; escape long and winding,
Love is so rarely mutually binding.

Dig me a grave there, keep me bound.
Hold me by the hair, through your fingers wound,
As you push me harder into the ground,
Till I am buried within you, my funeral mound.

You don't want my pain
You have enough...

How morbid must you be, he says.


-- Eleanor