Weapons primed and ready;
Round the troops, sound the sirens.
Snipers, hold your rifle steady
for the battle of the irons.

Pride and Hatred take a stance.
Violence crouches - taking aim.
Never takes a second glance
before he fires across the plane.

She lies helpless in the street.
Shot down in violent fashion.
Pleading peace in her defeat.
The victim's name is Compassion.

"Just keep your love about you."
said the kettle to the ***.
"What you have, you have to give
and charity is all you've got."
"And keep yourself together."
said the kettle to the cup.
"Some day soon you'll find a spoon
that stirs your spirit up."

That weapon
of mine you
confront with such
hateful hostility
is the only sword
sharp enough to
pierce your
inattentive armor -
You'd never
acknowledge
my existence
had I not been
swinging it.

And that
drunken bellow -
the only noise
louder than
the pushy,
productive voices
in your head.

Autumn moon
lighting up the
purple sky -
along with
lesser lights
watching as I
lost my mind.

All the stars
were in her eyes -
every cosmic cluster
glimmering,
dimming,
then falling
in the night.

Constellations
poured across
her pretty face.
Recklessly,
they’d crash -
splashing on
the ground,
then were gone
without a trace.

Her tender hand
consoled the
pieces left of me -
I just knew the
falling stars would
be the death of me.

Guess I'll settle
for the knock off,
tell everyone
I tried, and
throw my stones
into this ocean
till it decides to
change the tide.

Life was easy
when you were
around,
but I was slowly 
sinking d                        
               o                      
               w                    
                n..                
         Now it's hard,  
         but I'm healing.

Day after day, I rivel.
Who knows for how long?
Reduced to mere survival
screaming it’s selfish undertone.
Aspiration is long forgotten
If I live, to what avail?
Despair darkens my demeanor
Time and time again, I fail.
Compassion is now contended;
Making less sense than it did before
And those who are offended
break the hinges off my door.
Disappointment - my adornment
as if I’m capable of more..
If only they knew the torment
that is relentless at my core.  
Wisdom only mocks me.
She dances around my doom
singing, “Here lies a foolish boy
who followed freedom to his tomb.”
Now I’m cast to raging seas;
A boat beaten by an angry wave;
unanswered cries like pleas
from crows that cry above my grave.

Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?

Ah, Lord, You know.
But I am left to wonder why
every attempt to be the hero
turns to ashes when I die.
All this foolishness will follow
as I lay down and return to dust
and time is sure to swallow
all these fallacies I trust.