Mired in history, coiled around by cheap reflections
On previous ramshackle glory,
Roman armies camped in valleys,
Swords trickling with blood from the battle
On the heath. Bodies covering the bracken
Like a foreshortened locust swarm, wingless

Over the town. The triumphant Italians had there
On the high ground, above the sinuous Col,
Built temples
And baths. Marble hauled in from Sicilian quarries,
Loaded on to Carthaginian ships by fierce North African slaves-
Themselves beaten warriors.
They were in the town when the tribes struck,
Dying in chains.

Before their own savage deaths, they slaughtered
Others, cut them into ragged pieces, decapitated, raped,
Choralling songs of victory, leaving none alive.
That day, the dun hills smelt better!
They torched the temples and wasted the proud theatre,
The slender apogee of culture.

Now the town slumbers in the present,
Burying its past under beautiful gardens, purple flowers and
Raffish gladioli peeking out from unobtrusive suburbs
Stinking of ancient corpses.

Arpan Rathod Jun 1

Come close to me
stab me from the front this time
and look into my eyes
while you do that.

It’s rather difficult to comprehend what’s going on in situations of mass chaos
There’s a man laying in a pool of his own blood, next to a young child with his arms detached, a box of knives, a pile of rags, an overturned safe.
How can one possibly make sense of it all with the constant buzzing of the fan…
That’s how it happens
Lives so precious taken in an instant, from the conception of the murder carried through to this serene silence of the scene at hand
That’s where we are now,
the tranquil peace of the absence of life, no struggling, no pain
just vacant stares and the crimson red of the blood pooling around their bodies
There’s something beautiful about the silence  
something that draws you in, yet the eerie nature of it brings you a sense of dread
A sense of dread that I created
I think to myself, it must be raining outside, but I know that can’t be true…
I look down to see my palms are raining blood

How can I ever explain it?
Not without a full disclosure
I will tell you every bit
Your kindness to which I demure

Soldiers fight their own private war
Mine to protect the Hill Tribes
Willing to suffer all the gore
All credit to them I ascribe

Upon arrival in Da Nang
I gathered my field gear and rifle
A mission with Colonel Vang
Preparation seemed but a trifle

My kind mountain Hmong Tribal ladies
Give a great gift to me, your sons
I will escort them through Hades
I'll teach them to murder with guns

Wet their tongues in cobra's blood
I have come to save you from doom
The coming communist red flood
Boys already made their own tomb

We shall fly the flags of the Hmong
We'll rally boys from the villes
We must slaughter the Minh and Cong
The Hmong will have their own Bastille

I will take a dragon to wife
Boys will nurture in her foul breath
They will worship their bloody knife
We'll dance the ritual of death

I’m the lost soul forest monster
Others have come before today
They are pathetic impostors
We will flow through the night to slay

Other boys born beneath the palm
They have come to steal your life's breath
It's them that we target to bomb
I'll walk among you as Macbeth

My Duncan is among your kin
Banquo will haunt me til I rot
I will be fixed with mortal sin
Unable to wash away the spot

I will hide my hands from Odin
A conundrum in which I'm caught
Future will be among the Jinn
My destiny from this foul plot

Your sons buried in sacred ground
They'll not be stained with my darkness
Peace for them will be so profound
How many thanks can I express

Those boys in valor's selfless crown
From gallantry, their future gone
Sins I keep and can't beat down
For many years, I must atone.

I, far removed from battles roar
Do fondly remember those boys
Their smiles and laughter before
Stand out among life's greatest joys

No more the fierce warrior am I
Just an old man with memories
I am needing to just say goodbye
And maybe, maybe my conscience appeases

This is my lament.  It is extracted from my third life.

We ain't got no use for you, Jewboy.
None whatsoever
Your wife is one of them gooky people
From the Philippines,
But she thinks more like we do.
So, she ain't got no use for you either.
We banned you from the KavaSutra
So, we could shut your kikeass mouth,
But you keep talking anyways.
I don't know how the hell we're gonna' make you shut up?
We might have to put you in a Concentration Camp.
We'll see what happens
When our man, Trump,
Gets into Office.

Jim Morris Jul 2016

In the bloodiest centuries
Lie every mans shattered memories
Dying men flooded fields with loneliness
When the odds were slim they were not hopeless
Smaller the shield, bigger the blade
When they charged the battlefield they weren't afraid
Slaughtering their enemies, mission to invade
The crimson sky slowly fades
Earth quaking force, Thunderous trumpets
Deep down those men were nothing but puppets
Fighting for one mans greed possessed by madness
Reigning supreme, in a ruthless mans dream

War is useless
gray rain May 2016

Who came up with the word slaughter?
did they think killing things was funny?

Eloi Apr 2016

Run away, child,
Don't let me in,
I'm a demon,
I'm a devil,
I'll teach you how to sin.

Run away, little son,
Don't look into my eyes,
They are black-blue, they are deadly,
And full of dangerous lies.

Run away, little daughter,
Before your mind I will slaughter,
My existence knows no love,
I was expelled from above.

You can never run away,
Your mind is my slave,
I will haunt you until you die,
Never to leave your side.

Run away, child.
While you're still alive.

My last poem was very focused on a time in my life where I had a lot of problems, this is also a poem about that time.
I went through some very traumatic experiences, and I believe that a lot of it was super natural.

Not I, can take
Words, they ache
Written on a plate of gold
A dark mystery, they unfold

Cursed I lay,
Death, I outweigh
Slaughter, I see
To death agree

Memories play by
Screams, they amplify
Gone I will be
To the god I plea

Written for my English free writing assignment.
Josiah Wilson Nov 2015

My veins thrum with
The thrill of death and blood
My eyes alight with life
As I stride through the mud

Dead men all around
Most felled by my hand
They gave their all to die
And still alive I stand

I am invincible
Too angry to die
The battle rage fills me
As I roar at the sky

My thirst is never sated
I always yearn for more
More killing, more blood
More bodies for my sword

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