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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....
  Jun 2016 The Lunchtime Poet
Traveler
In the dark caves of mind
Where light is uninformed
The place where xenophobia
By superstitions born

With a quickness of heart
An opinion is formed
A judgment is rendered
A sentence is sworn

An observation can be fleeting
   With a lack of evidence...
Still
The condemnation imprints deeply
    In complete irrelevance...

Unfortunately
In the dark caves of mind
An open heart can be quite hard
   To find...
Traveler Tim
re to 02-18
She has a bird for a heart
And magic flying wildly
In her eyes
She has an hourglass smile
That never runs out of sand
She paves the road of madness
With evey step she dances
And walks
She gives birth to stars
And love
With every breath
She takes and gives
Her heart the bird
The center
Of my universe
  Jun 2016 The Lunchtime Poet
Ma Cherie
It is the spirit dragonfly, a nymph -
          the keeper of our dreams
     The breath of a moose in wintertime
Crystal waters that flow through a fast
                    moving stream
Clouds that cast shadows that slip through
            a purple sunset and disappear

                 It is the visiting Raven
               It is the fast running deer

              who dances in the rain
                   it is your tears
      which are the keepers of your pain

                Thunder and lightning
                         It is in your hands
               this life....it  is everywhere
            our soul finds a  
                   place to land.
Cherie Nolan © June 2016
Just some Native American thoughts.
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