#frontline
I got hit with that one trick pony line
Luring my anxiety,
AND insecurity,
To the frontline
Apparently I do mind
My mind will make sure to remind
Ignoring useful comments I find
And not just the kind kind
Too anything positive I'll become blind
A one track mind, singularity defined
Creating new shackles that bind
A self enforced redesign
Leading me to leave a select few talents behind
Choosing thoughts from another's mind to get behind
Because that one guy that one time
Tried to take from me the one thing I liked to give my time
But here's the bottom line,
I've found I rather enjoy expressing in rhyme
Hurt and pain just happen to be most of what I've felt for a long time
So that's what comes out
When I pour my heart out
Into each and every line
Let me apologize in advance for next time
©2024
Apr 26, 2024
Apr 26, 2024 at 5:10 PM UTC
Today they are on the frontline
not because they are the leaders.
They know how to sneak their way up.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
***front line; left behind
a steady battle cry crawls
into the death drum***
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
One for the man bunkered down in the trenches
sent in by his country as a henchman.
He's laying in the mud, praying for safety,
losing less blood than what's shed daily.
In this hazy hell, a drug buzz is needed.
Morphine seeps in, easing the beaten.
And in no man's land, a man cries for mercy
but his cries are cut off by the hands of Murphy.
Early in the morning, he packs his bags.
Rucksack on his back, heading back to base camp.
There's a damper in the room, sunken like the marsh.
Friends have fallen, it's clearly marked.
And his heart aches but they can't be dead.
Nah, he sees them every time he lays down his head.
From time to time, he jolts up out of breath,
but he never felt more alive, when he was close to death.
It's not a sob story, no it's just old glory
Two for the man bunkered down by the park bench,
clutching a cup, praying for penance.
He's laying on cement, waiting for change,
and trying to stay dry from the ******* rain.
In this day and age, a drug buzz is needed.
Morphine tabs, tap in the defeated.
Lungs splitting, teeth gritting, he's wishing for mercy.
Two times the dose, he curses out Murphy.
Early in the morning he packs his bags.
Rucksack on his back, he heads back to PADs.
He grabs a tray, sits alone, and says grace
because there's no space open for the "nutcase".
Arm's race to golden gates, he dragged a debt.
He carried his country as heavy as regret.
He carries his friends, they dangle from his neck.
But the thing about memories is that you can't forget.
It's not a sob story, it's just old glory
© Matthew Harlovic
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC