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Cam Stoker May 2014
[Verse 1:]
Sharp like an edge of a samurai sword
The mental blade cut through flesh and bone
Though my mind's at peace, the world out of order
Missing the inner heat, life gets colder
Oh yes, I have to find my path
No less, walk on earth, water, and fire
The elements compose a magnum opus
My modus is operandi is amalgam
Steel packed tight in microchip
On my arm a sign of all-pro
The ultimate reward is honor, not awards
At odds with the times in wars with no lords

A freelancer
A battle cry of a hawk make a dove fly and a tear dry
Wonder why a lone wolf don't run with a ****
Only trust your instincts and be one with the plan

[Hook]
Some days, some nights
Some live, some die
In the way of the samurai
Some fight, some bleed
Sun up to sun down
The sons of a battlecry

Some days, some nights
Some live, some die
In the way of the samurai
Some fight, some bleed
Sun up to sun down
The sons of a battlecry

[Verse 2]
Look, just the air around him
An aura surrounding the heir apparent
He might be a peasant but shine like grand royalty
He to the people and land, loyalty
We witness above all to hear this
Sea sickness in the ocean of wickedness
Set sail to the sun set no second guessing

Far east style with the spirit of wild west
The "quote-unquote" code stands the test of
Time for the chosen ones to find the best of
Noble minds that ever graced the face of
A hemisphere with no fear, fly over

[Bridge]
The blue yonder where
The sky meets the sea
And eye meets no eye
And boy meets world
And became a man to serve the world
To save the day, the night, and the girl too

[Hook]*
Some days, some nights
Some live, some die
In the way of the samurai
Some fight, some bleed
Sun up to sun down
The sons of a battlecry

Some days, some nights
Some live, some die
In the way of the samurai
Some fight, some bleed
Sun up to sun down
The sons of a battlecry
Nujabes - Battlecry
Opening theme from Samurai Champloo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yu1zT1KjbPk
Eric Flaze Apr 2010
Picking up pieces in the middle of the season of broken hearts mend apart. American child doa youll have tobe ready to die If you want to survive. hear the the battlecry take a step stand by till the end learn to to fight for your fellow men . Pick up your arms join the warfare beat to the sound of the drums hear the echoing snare . Fight for the right to survive just keep on marchin and marchin. While I am rocknrollen ur trigga fingga swollen make your way to the end of the line. Gun flashes in the sky. Waking up the night. This is a battle my child. Lift up your arms. Step up to face the war. Walk out to save a soul. Give them home my battlecry we will save the world this time.
Chano Williams Apr 2014
You know it’s a cold world
with hearts even colder
So few heroes ­seen
Evildoers get bolder
No choice, but to step up
and prepare f­or the fight
Not many other men
will stand up for your rights
It’­s time to think with your own mind,
to walk your own steps
Hold y­our head high, yes,
but, please, protect your own neck
There’s no­ need to stress
Just attempt to do your best
cleaning the world’s­ mess
Don’t forget to take a rest
It’s a lifetime achievement
A p­ath you walk alone
There’s little time to settle
when there’s so ­much to roam
Don’t become sidetracked by attacks
or distracted by­ a side kick,
though it’s rare to find
a good friend or a nice ch­ick
Still, remain focused,
stay true to the cause
Know how much t­ime you lose
when you choose to pause
May your name become a lege­nd
and strike fear into foes
May life become better
with everywhe­re that you go
DaSH the Hopeful Nov 2017
It's our time
The sublime
Rhyme and reason
We season this reality with words instead of thyme:
Both are medicinal
Antiseptic chemicals to keep away the grime


                   *Don't tell me any different


                Bare witness to the gift of bliss that is *expression

                       Words can increase life expectancy in the midst of depression
             They can get back at those who hurt you without using a weapon
            Or refresh your mental image when you're feeling less than

They form legacies and dedications
Eulogies and congratulations
They give everything in existence an identity
Even the most ****** obscenities

Words are life and words are love
Words even form this silly cheesy stuff

       **To everyone feeling poetic, I have but one question
      What's one way, while writing, your life has been blessed in?
andrew desantis Feb 2010
we talked silently
& without repose
under the blood red sun
of our sunken desire
my eroding heart
beating with each breath.

& laughter - falling out of love
& time

i clench every word in my mouth
red and seething
down my face

i can't find an excuse

breaking the silence
of the hyacinthic beauty
its pristine value charged
and buzzing at my
hip
Robert Fox May 2013
“Battlecry”

Battles rage and chaos gains a hold in every heart
But through all wars and endless fears

An end will come to all who seek
To tear the veil of reigning peace

My battle cry will end the fray
For my voice it shall be heard
Heavy Hearted Mar 2019
As the growing world unraveled
And I began the dismal ascension of maturity
I stumbled out the  fog of childhood
And there you were:

Advice to head and educate
A Battlecry and a Mandate.

Faith; in things to happen yet
Strength in knowledge- hope in regret;

Stories expressing casually:
Evils impartiality. and
tales of golden fantasies

How no drug is ever stronger than me.

These few phrases I imagine, you see
Into dreams only I can keep.
from start until the seventh day
Waking hour's dreamless sleep.

Oh how you cushion the destruction-
the entrancement of seduction
to paint to play to grow to teach
Expression extending as I reach
.
A letter to the greatest artist
Bridgette Jester Jun 2013
Splintered and sinister,
this cracked country
comes to wither.

Are we one,
or the forgotten?

******, we cower in the hate for
that of which was once so proud.

Severed souvenir civilians
can we come to root the Earth again?
Intertwine our truths,
that have torn at the fault lines
of  this rattled nation?

Stand tall now with the world
we shall soon sing in sweet harmony.
"Watch the things we gave our lives to broken;
and stoop and build us up with worn out tools"
Yet, forget not those who shall drown,
as they watch their castles crumble;
for they will too soon become enlightened.

Peaceful pirates set sail,
and ignite this tyranny
with quiet kerosene;
so we may unearth again
how the truth shall set you free.
Heavy Hearted Mar 2023
There is a magic dragon
 That my father and I know
It circles me then glides back to him
No matter where we go.

 Inside this invisible little beast,
 Part of my dad does stay
Immortalized, by magic art
please never go away.

Upon these words dragon's wings hang
ontop the lonley wind,
supported- gliding endlessly
Through life's chaos its spinned.

With every spin circling back,
To the begninng, till each end....
Each time another battlecry -
This Heavy heart's hardened.

May I be rendered, in truths light
When deception's shadow's tall,
& may that dragon help me find
A way back through it all.
Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea... 🎶
Inspired by the famous nursery rhyme of the same title.
Svetoslav Apr 2021
Here our soldiers stand.
Waiting in a line to hear the battle cry
She is ready to lead her warriors to victory.
Sounds of warcries fill the air in the icy Northrend.
From distant lands, lots of new races are there to ally
This is the place where they will make history.
A history for new generations to remember
An ember in the ashes of dark ages
The time is finally here.

Thousands of undead flow upon her army
She doesn't flinch, while rallying the human flag.
"Freedom is here! It is in our heads and our hearts, Raise your hands for victory is near." She said.
****** battle took place, as the undead warriors decreased faster than her warriors

At the next moment they won, it was a small step for them,
but a giant leap for mankind
Everyone was celebrating...
Then, out of nowhere a traitor stabbed her in the back. She sadly couldn't make it, and she embraced the black. Her sacrifice brought a new page in the history of the kingdom of Agerron.
21 lines, 177 words
If you are curious, know that Northrend is a continent in Warcraft 3, and the undead a race there. Also the kingdom of Agerron is made by me and my friend for the game.
A soldier like me
Can't show weakness
So I've been keepin ya a secret
Can't let the world know I have a weak spot
That the one thing that can destroy me is you
If they ever found you I don't know what I'd do
But i'll go through hell to protect you
I'll die over and over again just to hear you breathe
Because I would push past previous limits
At the cost to see you live
Sacrificing everything just to keep you
Putting it all on the line so I don't lose you
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
The time has come.
I must now say farewell.
But don't be glum!
You will see me again.

I'm going to make my name known
Across the ocean in a foreign land.
I'm going to experience the world
So as to soak up the wisdom of others.
And they will know me--

My name will ring like a battlecry.
My stories will entertain the passerby.
They will chant for me "Encore! Encore! Brava!"
They will throw themselves into the midst of the hoopla.
And when I've exhausted their reserves of attention,
I'll head home and be done with pretention.

For in all the traveling I'll do,
No one will know me like you.

And no matter how good
The fame makes me feel,
They will only know
My name as a battlecry,
My stories for the passerby,
How they chant "Brava",
And throw themselves into the hoopla.

But you will know
My favorite color is grey.
My hair is naturally straight.
My jam band is Train.
And most of all...
My real name.

Wait, why am I leaving?
To travel and meet Sting?
Why would I waste my days
Scouring the world for fame
When happiness is being known
By the One who loves you the most?

I think I'll retract my farewell,
That I might stay and with You dwell.
Aubrey Valdez Jan 2015
To take a stand you must get on your feet,
Through waves of contention you must compete.
Change can only come through those with strength,
With hope and faith, defying any length.
To one without motivation,
I administer to you a simple invitation.
Remember the man who gave his life,
The man who conquered and calmed the strife.
In hopes that we may return to our father above,
He gave his infinite and everlasting love.
All that he asks from us in return,
Is to love one another and his mercy we’ll earn.
So come unto him and take a stand,
Spread bravery and fervor throughout the land.
Justice and mercy we shall stand behind,
Creating an Earth, in which heaven is aligned.
Marla May 2019
Speeding away from gravitational orbit
The moon ablaze as gazes glare from the cockpit
A jacket of jet leather with patches abound
The Dead Kennedys and Franz Ferdinand
Keeping political war on Earth's ground
Flying away into the plains of space
As the plane of time gives hearty chase
Hollow youth filled with snippets of old age
As their battlecry channels an inner rage
Death to all earthly matters that muddle our future
The neon glow hums as the last remnant of a culture
So make way for this warrior who shall bring us all closure
Rebelling like a banshee set ablaze over Orion's shoulder
Ensuring the enemy's final haze destroys their dying composure
Gabriel Bonney Aug 2018
This for the little brothers
And the widowed mothers
To the Sunday morning snoozers
And the gamenight losers
To the wimps in the schoolyard
And even the bullies just down the boulevard
Shake the dust.

This is for the shopfront greeters,
The youth group worship leaders,
For the early morning joggers and the late night bike riders,
And for the boy who's crush loves someone else
For milk crate ball players,
And for the wallflower haters
Plant the forests.

To the sleepers and the dreamers,
And to the bed-wetters,
As well as the lonely love letters
To the broken hearts who write poems
And the broken souls that stole them
To men who work for a family they never see
And girls who want a lover but they'll never be
Split the seas.

For the heavens you have lived and the hells you felt you have gone through,
For the demons who have overcame and the ones yet to be overcome
For the ones who have stuck with the Lord all the same
And the ones who don't yet know His name
For the fair-weather friends the friends 'til the end
The overnighters and the stories told at campfires
Move the mountains.

This is to the poet, and lovers who don't yet know it
To the writers but it's just a hobby,
The Debbie Downers who can't stop me
This is for the authors whose books is left unread on dusty shelves
And the girls who hate the look of themselves
To the ones, that when it rains, they choose to sing
And the winter you must endure to reach the spring
Shake the dust.

This is to all of you,
and I will say it again: shake the dust.
Because from the dust you were made,
and to the dust you will return.
So let this poem not be mere words that barely flow,
may this poet not just be another kid,
too quixotic to change the world.
But might my poetry be the notes
which your words are carried by.
Let them swing and sway,
a piece to our battlecry,
some sylable in your life story.
Because from the dust you will rise,
so carry the dirt with you
and take the world by storm,
for the ground you scrape from your palms
is the story you form.
dustsceawung | Old English | (n.) "contemplation of dust"; reflection on the knowledge that all things will turn to dust
Jimmy King Aug 2015
our circles of right and wrong,
fractured in absence of fickle zen,
stand now across the sky
diagramed on clouds in venn

and smiling the grey
blobs block the meteors;
it’s love of life that may
chain our bodies in the center

of that shifty airy water space
where waffles are gentrification
and the hands we hold are separation
and its happening everyplace

we go. so to talk and act
separately, is to deny that cloudy venn;
to go where mind is scarcely fact
and establish a dangerous distance

cuz yesterday I meditated
but today I must’ve particulated
cuz  I see we’re one big contradiction
inside love that’s bound to mediation.

friere would say this occupation
is precisely our ontological vocation,
but to subjectify ourselves at the very
center of the venn is to carry

a weight upon the column
of my spinal cord unknown
even to the days
of my very best posture.

yet, your resistance to the slump—
it guides me to listen for the thump
thump of distant drums:
a revolutionary battlecry

through which I extend my hand
to hold yours across the waffled
space which we’ve so ******.
our heartbeat races through my mind.
Anders Thompson Mar 2017
Send some rain, please God send some rain
For the earth is dry and needs to drink again --
And I know not how to speak to You anymore
I’ve run and run and run from You
I have feared, disgraced, shunned, and longed for You
All in single breaths, all in one gasp
There is too much, Lord
This wall is too thick
Too high, too strong
The gate is shut and I know not, remember not, the key
Did I hold the palette knife, Lord?
Was it I that mixed the concrete and placed the bricks?
Who drew those plans?
There is not a day I remember
Where I decided to shut down and shut off and shut away
The people on the outside
Things are safer on the inside, this I know
That this mind is a trap and this body is a bomb
But at least it isn’t as frightening as the ones outside --
But no, that isn’t true
I’ve seen how this mind will break and this body will fail
How the counter keeps ticking down down down
How I will run out of tape and glue to piece
These cracked halves and splinters back again
I’ve watched myself snap, teeth bared and nails out
Primitive and carnal, ready to destroy and ****;
Sluggish, depleted, apathetic, incapable, laying on the floor
Wheezing breath in and out, body crumpled to the ground
He says he loves me
God, isn’t that hysterical?
I have fallen too far for people to love me, o God
I have not quality
Nor quantity to make up for it
I don’t know how to feel safe with others
How to trust and how to love
Perpetually planning, there is a degree of calculation
In every move I make, every word I speak, every breath I take
The alarm bells will not stop -- stop! -- ringing
Everyone is faulty, everyone is dangerous
I cannot make them safe to me
Or this odious warning system
I write to feel
I speak to find help
But I am not better
I am not alright
God?
God, are You out there?
They spoke of You in church this morning.
Every Sunday is another battlecry of you.
The mere mortals moralize and maneuver
They built their society on You,
But lost You in their rules --
Hell is empty, all the devils are here --
The Sadducees live again in this century, o Lord
I know His was only a single ticket
But perhaps there is another plane He could take, God
I was told this wall needed to descend for You, God
“Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.”
But I have never reached for You
You know this, I know this
I am looping round and round
This reads more like a child’s diary entry than a poem
A confused convoluted confession
Not a profession, a solution, a heartfelt love
My God, You have got to save me
Medication might save or destroy my brain
But it will touch not my soul
I don’t know how to love
You love me
Could You teach me what it means?
God I would serenade You for Your love
David’s desperation and my muted, confused despair are one:
Save me, O God!
For the waters have come up to my neck.
I sink in deep mire,
Where there is no standing;
I have come into deep waters,
Where the floods overflow me.
I am weary with my crying;
My throat is dry;
My eyes fail while I wait for my God.
Eleete j Muir Jan 2012
The soul of Heaven
Panoptically piercing
The flight ideas of
Fateful formaking;
The forfended
Resonance of the choirs
Of thunder provoking perdition
The seditious war drums of
Silence weaving movements of being
The ambient battlecry lament
The resounding echoe
Within my soul, knotting
A prism of shadows
Rumbling beyond eternity
Like flowers that grow dead
The aura of time
Musing tidal memory
Reminiscent of twilight
The mercurial epoch of light
A spectrum of emotion.


ELEETE J MUIR.
OnwardFlame Oct 2016
I feel a lot of things
And I feel a lot of things all the time
Theres not always a safe space to express them
And I drank an 11 dollar ****** ***** martini tonight
Because I really wanted to try and be my best me.

My limbs rest and glide upon
A soft hazel conundrum
Of astounding support and a wide gaping
Internal struggle
A struggle to be and exist
In the most invested and sincere way
To create, give, and provide
And its true
I know no one else sees it
But I look at myself now
And fear whats here
Whats coming
What was
What is.

And I charge ahead
With my phrases
That provide a safety net
For what could, whats well kept
And nobody else here would know
Or maybe they sense it
And thats why they are so drawn
To my own interior monster.

I know we all feel it
We feel useless at times
Like no good
The least unique
I wonder if I will grow old
Highlighting the wonder and beauty of others
And it makes my girlfriends and I wail
That such a troll
Could seek vengeance on national television
Against another woman's
Husband’s
Misdemeanors.
And simply state
He has not
It was nothing
But just
Boys will be boys
Talk.

But no one can say that
No one can really point out
Just how ****** up
And triggering
Heart wrenching
And shaky she must have felt
To have the love of her life
Sit in the audience
With those
He may or may not
Have touched
Without her grace.

I'm just angry sometimes
I get pink and feel hot
I would have been a terrific lawyer
My mother goes to court for charges
Against a violent and cut throat neighbor
The day after my screening
In the month of November

And the world wonders
Why are women so angry?

So get your ******* keys back
Not because I'm worried you want her ***** more than mine
But because I'm here now
And what we share
Is for us to define.
smallhands Aug 2014
Wander, ebb and flow,
Discern where in this desert the wind should blow
There's a battlecry for convention
An even fiercer for freedom
It is the slight rustle when a tumbleweed passes

-cj
Kayley Brayz Nov 2019
(Part 1)




Standing on the mountain,
Slaying hordes, creating a blood-splashing fountain,
My sword slicing and slashing,
The bones broken, the bodies slayed, the blood gushing and splashing!!

When the foghorn blows, I know they want war,
My power will unleash itself, my sword will slay, no matter who they are,
Be it my mother or my brother,
For me, there is no such thing as fighting for each other…

I believe that in very corner there is anger and hate,
Talking about my sword, it you shall rate,
It is of fine diamond, sharp as the sharpest stone,
Swift enough to slice an apple in the air, and sharp enough to slice off any bone!

I watch with glee as the silver knights roar out the battlecry,
I watch as they grip their mighty swords, and start dashing, running to me, wanting to die,
They gallop on their horses, the ground shaking and trembling beneath their mighty army,
Maybe there is too much of a score, but surely to one knight I will make a death all charmy…

I grip my fine sword, as my eyes pierce the view, my head covered by my hood,
My face darkened by the hide covering my head, I'm death itself, standing on these lands for up to no good,
My green luminescent pupil-less eyes judge that of the knights there is a one-hundred four score,  
As I stand there, dressed in my black hide, my fur boots, I remembered how I used to say, "The more tough it is, the more gore…"

Suddenly, with a blink of an eye, we are face to face,
The horses shriek at me, as I leap at the knights,
A sword pointed at my heart, an arrow at my head, and swinging for my head, there is a rusty iron mace,
I grin, knowing that ****** will I make the nights!!

The eyes lock for a moment, the moment tenses,
There is anger in every heart as we stare, not just give nervous glances,
The time freezes, it's like in a slow-motion,
And suddenly, I basically activated an anger-rage potion!!

My jaws snap open, and air ripples around as my roar that is heard thousands of miles away explodes out of my jaws,
The knights' ears ring from the loudness of my roar,
The diamond sword tighter I grip with my finger-like claws,
And swing to my right at lightning speed, slicing the heads of the knghts' being four!

Blood gushes in a circle, while I give them no sign of good-luck,
My sword slashing, the clash of metal, my sword stabbing each knight like a duck,
Piercing the skin with my sword, I rip out their intestines with a flick of my hand,
The arrows zip at me, the arrowheads piercing my skin like it is sand…

I feel my bones snapping from the arrows, but pain doesn't brings me down,
Pain only makes me more angry and stronger, me it doesn't drown,
I'm a ghoul whose strength is not explained,
As I slice the knights and dodge the arrows, I remembered how when I fought, the blood rained!!

I stab a silver knight, driving my sword right through his ribs, ending his pain and troubles, then flick my hand and cut off one's head,
An arrow pierces my temples, but yet I'm still not dead,
Dodging swords and arrows, I slam my fist on the ground,
The air ripples around me, and the air pushes off the knights and arrows around!

My cloak swooshes from the force of the air,
I'm made of tough muscles and skin, fair?
You, an army of two-thousand-four knights, versing one thing that looks like a ghoul,
I'm too powerful, and already a thousand knights are slayed, ye fool!!

I came here for diamond, treasures and gold,
I'm a thing, I have no age, so I'm neither young nor old,
I'm empty inside due to my powerful god-like strength, making me heartless and cold,
As I stand there with muscles tense, blood pooled on the grass, I watch the knights standing, mighty and bold…

I call them warriors, I call myself a ghoul,
As I get back in battle, I slice off one's arms, making him from pain just drool,
He falls on the ground as my sword finds his head, the fall breaking his rib bone,
As I slice off heads and arms, legs and waists, dodging arrows and receiving blows of swords, I speak in a demonic voice, "You ain't alone!!!!"

Slicing bodies, smashing bones with my fists and legs,
My sword creating a gushing fountain of blood,
Smashing ribs like they are shells from eggs,
You are fighting someone, who in war is a god!!!

As the arrows slice right through my skin from the force of the archers' metal bows,
I squat, my legs bented as I dodge all the blows,
Suddenly I push off with my legs, zooming into the sky,
The air ripples around, pushing back the knights paces away, as I zoom to the stars, up so high…

I gradually slowen down cause of the gravity, as I start falling down through the mist,
I face the Earth as I start zooming and searing through air  back down, my diamond sword ahead of my head, clinched by my ****** fist,
I see the army of a thounsand, gawking and looking up at the speeding comet in the sky,
"Here I come to gain my gold and make you know only one word, 'die'!!!"

My sword finds the ****** ground, as the ground explodes in a tremendous explosion and boom,
The flame unleashes and covers the sky, covers the lands, bringing upon the army a burning doom,
From space one could see how a big chunk and piece of Earth has exploded with fire,
Few minutes pass, and the as the smoke and fire clears, the victory is given to the hooded figure, giving others what they deserve and need to desire…

Slayed is the army of two-thousand and four,
It was rather too quick, I wish for more,
At least mine is all the treasures and the ore,
There was no other way to gain my treasures, so I gained them with gore…

I stand in the crater, formed by my victorious fatality,
If they want to steal my gold, they deserve such a brutality,
I'm death itself, and a ghoul,
If you spot me, remember to give what I want and don't be a fool………



-Mishka Wayz
This is created by me,  yes. It was hard to do this but at least I did it. This is a fantasy which I created.

The ghoul, is a guy, but he is so sinful and evil, and full of darkness and gore, that he calls himself a ghoul. He thinks he is a thing. But anyway, his name is Scardebego Whipsidol. Yes, I created the name and poem myself and everything is created by me. Sorry if there are any typos or it doesn't makes sense.
Also, Scardebego's strength is unexplained, and he is selfish for treasures. He slays anyone who dares touch his gold. He had a mother btw, and a family, but he was cursed by his greed for gold and treasures, that's why he killed his family and that's why he is so powerful and god-like, but sadly, dark and monstrous.

He can breath underwater for 78 hours until death  (3 days) (He has fish gills also)
He can burn alive for 78 hours until death  
He is dead only after more than a billion arrows (The poem takes place in the times of LOTR, but if it was bullets, he would die after a million of them)
He dies in acid and lava and mercury after 78 hours
He can live without his body parts for 78 hours (Head, legs, arms) (Also if his chest is torned open)
His full speed is the speed of lightning
His voice can be demonic and deep at times, and sometimes he can roar so loud your ears will shriek from the loudness that you won't be able to hear after a time (You might go deaf)
He sometimes doesn't speaks at all
His bones only break if he falls from the height of the moon
If his bones is broken, he can easily snap it back into place and his bone heals over time
His eyes shine at random moments, but mostly his face is darkened by the hood, making a hollow black-like void

No copywriting please



There. Cheers Lol
Stephanie Aug 2019
It all starts with I want to
Like
I want to gather myself
Even if it is parted into many pieces
I want to see myself
Ceasing the fire that is fed by insecurities
I want to be better
At being myself, not to be somebody else
I want to be that good daughter,
Even if I think I'm not that smart
I want to find peace and live it
Even it is too chaotic to start right now
I want to gather myself
And build all of these

It all starts with I want to
And I wanna end this with I will.
c'mon self, we have a battle to win.
Heavy Hearted Dec 2017
I made a pitcure of jade and emma,
Tossed it on my wall,
Even took a couples pics
They loved it, that was all.
Neither understood its facts,
and till now, neither did I
Intended not as honorary, but as a battlecry.
That picture I conceived of them, includes me in it not- just my reflection in it's glaze, an abstraction in their thoughts.

And yes, even we formidibal three
Somehow all forgot
That even forever aint forever
Our lessons already taught.
And so the power of this image, is more then I will share-
It merley depicts my two best friends,
Admiting they don't care.

This type of art is devistating.
Astonishingly clever,
So clear its truths invisible
The subjects see it never.
You should always be able to rley on your friends- dissapointment only exists because of its twin sista, expectation
Mahdi Dn Sep 2019
Rise, brothers,
Freedom calls us.
Grab your guns
Wear your helms

This day all tyrants
Will turn to our servants
This night their hearthstone,
We will own!

Army of the horde is on the way
Warriors, line up!
Standby for battlecry
Bloodlust has conquered our minds and our souls.
Rip off their hearts,
Break their skulls!

Trenches made of corpse
Armors made of bones
Slaying the horde is our goal

Taunts and cry-outs
Sounds of swords and shields
Is our music

Their throats and their backs
Sounds of the bones break
Injured warriors are bleeding
It paints your soul

Stand up and fight
Drive the lance of light
Into the eye of the night
Free the world from the rage of this dark hate

Army of the horde is on the way.
Warriors, line up!
Standby for battlecry
Bloodlust has conquered our minds and our souls.
Rip off their hearts and break their skulls!

Rise up!
Lyrics to the song with the same title by Chaos Descent, released in 2014
Written by Mahdi Monstrosity Dn
Sophia Granada Sep 2015
I know you always saw yourself a knight
But I did not realize for a long time
That I was a page.
You were my sparring partner
Who taught me to come at the world
Gun drawn
So no one could out-shoot me.
You told me,
And I know,
That Justice wears a blindfold because
She slashes her sword indiscriminately,
And looks at that scale
Never.

You always saw yourself a lawman
I always saw you as a fool.
I never realized I learned law
At your feet.
Fallacies and ways of
Drawing out argument and diatribe,
Loopholes of morality through which
We spin.
You taught me to be technically correct,
The best kind of correct,
Always exploiting but
Always within my jurisdiction.
I only know now I was a deputy
To a sheriff of ridiculous stature.

You taught me THE ART OF WAR.
It was engraved in stone for me
Like an all-caps Roman monument.
THE ART OF WAR
Is sprawled across a stone archway in my mind
Where you came, and you saw.
It marks your conquest.

You made it my way of loving,
Of relating to the world and the people around me.
You made me a martyr and mercenary,
Standing atop a hill in golden armor,
Sunlight behind me and wind in my hair,
An avatar of Durga,
A disciple of Joan of Arc,
A four-year-old poses in chainmail
You wrought for her.
Illusions of grandeur such as your own
Come with this territory.

You taught me
As your mother and father
And grandparents
Taught you,
THE ART OF WAR-
That love is just begrudging words of sweetness
Issued only after ruins lay all around
And both parties are sufficiently vulnerable,
Their bricks having been pried away with crowbars.
Love is only an apology given to mollify
The wounds you have already wrought.
The only privilege loved-ones are afforded,
Is the bandage that covers up the customary
Destruction
That is your normal face.

You and I only ever knew love as
You clipping my wings
And I breaking free to spray
The shrapnel of those chains
Into your face.
We added to each others' pile of scars.
It was so rare for us to run into battle together,
On the same side,
Voices as one in a battlecry.
I don't even know how long it's been since
Us soldiers-for-hire got hired
By the same team at once.

You cast me out of steel
Like a sword.
And now I am the legendary blade
Destined to clash against you for all eternity.
We will only ever know ceasefires
Of a day in length.
We will run through the flame,
And we will practice the art
You taught me.
When I was five years old, my father's favorite hobby was making chainmail. He made a coif sized to his head, and put it on me, and had me pose fiercely. He took a picture because it was so cute. Now he doesn't make chainmail anymore; he has built his own forge and learned to cast metal.
My father and I are both fond of writing poetry. He once wrote a poem about anger management problems, the first line of which was "beware the page whose master is rage."
He has a tattoo of a soldier of fortune skull, whose empty eye sockets I used to poke with my tiny fingers.
He has worked as a combat medic, and as a corrections officer, and as an EMT, and as a security guard, and as many many other kinds of people. He was an aimless shiftless jack-of-all-trades before he was my father, and he knows it, and he very much sees himself as a soldier of fortune, a knight, a contractor of combat.
He knows the law well, from his amateur studies of it. He is very much "up" on law that concerns guns and all other manner of slings and arrows. He knows the penalties for assault and battery and homicide and manslaughter and countless other things. Because he likes to argue law so fiercely, he often takes the same knowing and devious tone in personal arguments. He has read "The Art of War" by Tsun Tsu. He recommends it.
His family was not kind to him growing up; I don't think they knew how to be kind. He is not kind with others, because he does not know how to be kind. He is always fighting and struggling and feeling himself pursued and oppressed. He is his own prisoner in a string of meaningless personal battles.
When I was ten, he and I made an agreement that we wouldn't argue for that whole day, and we would be kind and gentle to each other. And we were. And we knew that one ceasefire of a day in length.
He is a Scorpio, and I am a Sagittarius. There is a myth about the great scorpion pinching the centaur's arrows out of the sky; he clips the only wings the centaur knows. He steals the only way he sees to fly.
My father the lawman, the soldier for hire, the knight, dressed his page in armor he wrought himself. He cast a sword to fight back at him. He clipped the wings of his celestial neighbor. These metaphors are so personal. You can't know what they mean unless you've lived in my house.
Hate Words Eight Words

The face is now veiled in darkness
Soul of a beggar but name of a king.
I used to grasp his embrace
Now of him, I have no trace.

Holding the globe of the past
He stands, is, memory of distress
I watch him quickly breathe his last
As trudges the souvenir of thievishness…

I summon my self’s shield
Silent steel, I stay still
Nightmare, my battlefield
I was, am, guided by my will.

His lust eyes me and smile
Fight in the flesh, he purs
Slime of a sight sick and vile
Covered in cowardice and furs!

Verbal violation of his desired aether
He who despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!

Seated on his malachite throne
He attempts to break my temple
I constrict my ocean turned ripple
It awaits, is, will be a cyclone.

The viciousness of his speech
Echoes in my mind from afar
I am no lamb on his altar
Vicious blood-thirsty leech,

He twists his hem of power
With a swift sound, removes his helm
Walt Whitman in the refreshed bower
Lend me your boldness in your realm!

Blank and wide are his irises
Empty shell of a shabby knell
As he, mud-eyed, rattling, rises
My mother’s doom for which she fell!

Violent destruction of his born aether
He who despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!


His coarse voice resonates
In the shame-paved room
He shines, splendor of his gloom
Empire of unknown coordinates,

Naught of an ultimate utopia
Boastful volubile hegemony
Defecator of his dystopia
Machine of his misogyny!

Hear my battlecry, begone
You have with your blade
Tainted my giggling jade
Lo! I am amazonstone!

Point your ringed finger
Your mysterious misery
Hails no glory or mystery
At the gown of your anger,

Vivacious victory of his degraded aether
He whom despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!

I face you, clad in love, glad
I remember your name I had
I fed your face to the flame
To shush the shreds of this blame…

My femininity are my swords
Of peace I touch the infinite rare rim
Eight words against your eight words
Shout a mea culpa seditious stream

Of a tongue that I despise!
I felt your despair’s backlashes
Do not fret about your demise
To me you are already ashes!

Sit down as I melt
With my inner core
You tastelessly tried to smelt
All your hope and your last ore!

Vivified volition of your pugnacious aether
He whom despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!


My long silver birth-link
With you vanishes
I mark with the ideal ink
Your name on your fleshes.

Your image flickers and stutters
That’s the paralyzing current I felt
Horrendous is the thought of your belt
Your astute apologue blinks and blathers…

I close the door of your crumbling palace
Your voiced obscenity put to rest
I won’t wait for your inaudible, alas
Apology for this thread of threat!

Gone is the blood of your shade
Slowly to the ground you will fade
Away from the light you begot
You ******* bipolar bigot!

Voidableness of your daughter’s aether
He whom despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!
Written to my father during an assignment about gender at UCR
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
Where is the poet whose bugles blow
Through internet screens and invisible
Imperialistic royalty?
Might your words blow like trumpets
At Jericho?
March, march upon the walls
That which takes the heart at its very beat,
Take back with passion all that
Fear has robbed,
The power in the people that remains
The basic fundamental movement
Of this world,
Let be known we stand,
We stand and will fight,
March on poet saints,
Let a the martyrs before you become
The crystalline clarity that beckons
Deep in the soul.
Behold,
The words become a movement,
May they incur the people,
Then it becomes a battlecry!
tap Aug 2015
Unwrap me.
Strip me of this vessel.
Shake this bottle,
this container,
until the insides bubble up.
Challenge my everything.
Yell.
Scream.
Cry out your battlecry.
I will do the same,
matching your tone,
copying your voice.
I will do the same
until I can no longer speak.
I will best you
in this contest of screams
until I feel the redness in my cheeks.
I will shake the mountains
with my voice alone.
Every word I say
sets a landmine off,
so let the explosions come.
I have so much more to say.
i found this in my phone. it was unfinished, so i added some more. life has been hard, but it's also been good.
Pratham Sharma Aug 2016
One more gone, out of us
Do you know that they count on us
I am talking those who risked THEIR lives
Only for us to be in peace and strive

One more crime, we saw it blind
BUT they still fight for the right of mankind
I am talking about those who don't die
Those who don't lose hope in the battlecry

One more attack and we are silent
That's the message for the martyrs we send
It's time for all of us to unite
Not as nationals, as humans to fight.
Please guys share it as much as you can it is very important to aware people of it and give a strong message to terror strikers that we are not afraid of them and will fight them together
Speen Cough Aug 2015
I suit up
I got my war paint on
forward into battle
forwar forward into battle saying
Fire, fire, fire, Fire away
hear the battlecry
hear and sing it like
oohohohohhhoooooh
River Oct 2018
How can you remember anything
when you’ve turned off your mind
How can you experience anything
when your heart is silenced?

How can you know who you are
when you’re a people pleaser
Smiling fasley
Averting your eyes to conceal your truth deep within

My words pour through me like clashing symbols
Desperately trying to make a statement
Seeking to grab my attention
But I’m elsewhere
I’m never here
Sometimes I subsist in reveries,
But mostly I suffer through nightmares
with eyes wide open

There is a sickness growing silently within me
But I’m not here to tend to it
I sometimes peel back my armor
and re-enter my body
when I’m with another person
whom I believe might be able to receive me fully,
Someone who could possibly see me and love me
But I’m left stranded
After courageously revealing my tender soul
I guess they were simply too blind to see
My pure, childlike beauty
So I stuff my real self down again,
Down underneath my false representative
Below the surface of my fake identity
Is the only place my real self will ever belong

But I can’t accept that,
It’s not my truth
Maybe social conditioning
tells me I must follow the rules
to fit in
But I don’t want to fit in anymore

I feel something rising within me,
Something latent that I’ve dismissed within me for so long
It is my battlecry,
It is my truest song
I just won’t allow fear to hold me back anymore
I’ve got this one life,
And what is it for?
I may have hit countless rock bottoms
But I’ll always rise,
For with every time I rise
I become stronger,
And wiser
And kinder,
Softer, more weathered
But humbled
With every instance my heart was cracked
It opened
Wider and wider

So you see,
I can’t be what you need me to be
I can’t go back to who I used to be
I must answer to this new life beckoning me
I must rise once again
To invite this process of becoming everything I am meant to be.
To defeat the darkness within me.
Heavy Hearted Feb 2023
21 for the decades, times double date
22 for your memory & how still, it placates
23, for my parents, with all their support-
& 24 to reflect, record and report.
25 for the sound of my friends breathing sleep, and
26, for the shared memories that only one of us keep.
27 for Heaven & 27 for Hell,
if my next years worth living, its worth living well.
28 as an EP, The Mainstream, the mandate;
the lifestyle, the butcher, the people relate-
29 in a battlecry,when we run towards the light,

& 30- for all those who fight the good fight. The addicts, the victims all without support systems:

may peace keep you warm & may you know love  is a place,
& that
Together we'll triumpth, in the futures we face.
Helena J Apr 2014
i have
  the battlecry
youll never
  forget

so run away
run and hide
Lost Poet Apr 2017
When the joker comes out to play,
Do we not laugh with the crowds?

And when the clown is on the walkway,
Does joy not fly among the clouds?

It will rain on us on our days too dry,
When the hum of people runs out,

When we hear the sound of the battlecry,
We call our jokesters from his hideout.
one got caught up in a kerfuffle
looked ones opponent in his rolling eye
you come lookin you done found trouble
was his shirt ripping battlecry
now while confronted with the conundrum
of how to respond without responding in kind
ones attempt to maintain decorum
was met with disdain
and a wild right to ones blind side
momentarily dazed possibly mild concussion
left one for a second or two in a deep malaise
gentlemanly conduct wasnt going to be possible
so what one did next was beyond the pale
but **** em
one kneed him in the *******
poked him in the eyes
kicked him up the ****
then ran as fast as ones wobbly legs could provide
judging by the lack of follow up
and the sound of sobbing coming from behind
a ******* or an eyeball
was the cost of poking a finger at the wrong little posh guy
dedicated to the little posh kid i saw getting bullied the other morning. he wont be doing that again.
wren cole Jun 2016
I hate the sense of obligation I have when I write.
I could care less if there's a pattern or a rhyme.
I do not write to write poetry.
Poetry is a form of delivery, a more delicate voice for the battlecry inside of me,
A way to release my chaotic thoughts.
I hate wanting to make sense to you
But I want to make sense to you
So maybe somewhere someone will read my heart and know they are reading my heart.
My brain and heart clash, clatter,
Chaos in a cluster intangible, so I instead try to make it legible
Because I cannot physically fight my demons or the thick inks that weigh down my veins.
I hate this,
I hate every word coming out of me right now,
Artificial and laminated,
Served to You, my Reader,
Seasoned to what I hope is your liking:
Far too mild.
I wish I could scream through words,
I wish I could finally write something with enough honesty and emotion that I feel like it was worth writing.
After every sentence I want to exit this page,
Close this book,
Slash big ****** red "X"s on everything in this artificial life.
I will not end this gracefully.
My thoughts are not graceful.
Dear inner artistry: go **** yourself.
a spoken version of this is being uploaded to my yt channel, Thursday Falling. because I'm an attention ***** or something of the sort. You can check it out if you'd like.
cleann98 Jun 2019
fickle winds
spread across him
with all the strength
of a dying breath

it swallowed him
nearly toppled him

stole from him
whispers, sweet nothings
simply bereft.



it was lifeless a sigh
that was her battlecry
like the once flapped
wings of a butterfly

and so they flutter
and they so try

harken
a heart's sweet
sweet hound

the mutiny to cry.

once, had she
silenced him
and never again—

a whirlwind
a heartbeat
and a teardropped
inkstain...

finger painted
across his chest
lock and key
to way back when—

and a life that's stolen
killed a ghost just
about to begin
still. soulless. slain.

a wreck before
he even rode the train.


feeble breeze,
a warm air
reached his ear

like crashing waves
against a lowly boat

he knew the vastness of the ocean
that anywhere else he'd be in the clear
yet no matter how hard he'd try
away, he just couldn't steer—
water and thirst am i right? what it feels like fighting of your worst primal urge.
thank you for reading~~

— The End —