"indisputable" poems
I miss the drunks. The y3lling.
The inhalation of beer and cigarettes
Chased down by ego and godlessness.
How many times
hqve I written to this song,
and never heard beauty once?
Like the sweet pinch of a grapefruit,
before the sunset of sweat,
the same sunset that hailed warfare for boys.
I loved you so much once,
I still do, but you are like mist,
and I am blind.
I miss backstabbers, creeps, catfish,
vampires, crows,
an angel.
When I was young I would screech down the hill
in my toy truck,
plastic chassis a powerhouse,
canary and howling,
I'd crash into the same cherry tree a million times.
Call me Avalanche.
Call me Indisputable.
Call me the Powerhouse.
Call me,
I missed you.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
They hide behind
A masked impunity
One that loiters on the lips
That gathers dust
While proclaiming
A nightmare of angels
Who haunt derangement
In startling blasphemous hullucinations
Which excite to the point of delerium
Who menace with grandiose examples
Which surpass all human capacities
Renouncing indisputable rights as heresy
Keeping their stones not cast, unthrown
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
Instead of pulling backwards,
I’m going to look this way.
----->
MOVE FORWARD.
Shift out of reverse.
What’s was
Is what has already happened
Cemented in its place in history
Indisputable fact
Not so indisputable to **********
who want to talk about existentialism
But those moments are gone
Those opportunities, lost
That’s air you already breathed,
In and out of your lungs like THAT.
You’d get arrested
For driving on the left hand side of the road
Because that’s the wrong way
Unless you’re Britain,
Who still needs to prove their righteousness
In totally weird ways.
The rest of us are more humble.
When you put on our uniform
Make sure you kick the ball in the right goal
Otherwise the PG comedy reality comes to fruition.
I can do nothing about yesterday;
Tomorrow scares the **** out of me.
But today,
I can do.
I can make it through.
I can go that way.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 1:03 PM UTC
I’m so homesick. I miss the sound of the language, the feel of it…I miss the adventure, the beauty, the kindness, the presence of belonging. I miss long city walks at night, when the skyscrapers could be seen for miles and throw lights on the pavement. I miss the subway, the simplicity of walking from one place to another and watching the city whip past me as I stand, humming quietly as the rail tracks bump underneath my feet. I miss the feel of the language reverberate on my tongue and hear it chiming in my ears. I miss the generosity and rich culture. I miss the humility and simplicity; the ambition and indisputable threshold for righteousness. I miss the strength, the willingness of an ear, patience of an oak tree and the composure of respect. I miss the jagged horizons of mountains loom with calming familiarity with spectacular array of greens; and I miss the way the sky flower into a spectacular shade of pink at the break of dawn, speckled with yellow and deep orange. I miss gazing at the ocean, admiring the restlessness and salty wilderness I find inexplicable. I haven’t seen the sea in over a year…I used to see it almost everyday. I miss the delicacies, the delicious combination of rice, fish, vegetables, and more. I miss the mesmerizing subtleties in the culture, in the system and way of life which proves to be far from perfect, yet which is one I belong in. I miss Japan…Tokyo, Yokohama, Iwakuni, Aomori, Hokkaido, everywhere. I miss my home.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
There is something undeniable about this new aesthetic:
Barefoot and barely presentable
as I slow-dance in the kitchen at 3am
Nobody but me, my shadow and a gentle grey kitten who patiently watches me pour another cup of coffee.
I stir in cinnamon,
a taste that's heedy and all too sweet against the roof of my mouth.
So strong it makes me want to gag,
and yet I sing under my breath:
old tunes I have no business remembering
and lullabies brought to me on the wind
[singing] all you have is fire
-and the place you have to reach.
My mother wanted a girl she could put together like a jigsaw.
A girl who would sit still and patiently endure
the effort it took to construct
the perfect plat, perfect updo
perfect winged eyeliner, perfect blush
perfect poise, perfect dress,
Perfect daughter.
Instead she had me
a muddled and confused thing
with a tangled mess of curls and eyes that couldn't quite look away.
Something with ***** fingers that knew the give and take of every leaf and blade of grass
something that couldn't sit still on creaking church pews
because for all the beauty they pursued, she'd seen the unmatched grace of rolling thunder
and the indisputable life of the ocean.
While other girls watched the boy chase the girl to a perfect kiss
she worshiped the women who took up their weapons and refused to keep their peace. - A child raised on a steady diet of Victorian poetry, Greek myth and poison. Stitched together with images of Artemis, Scottish women and a heathenish name.
My mother would lead me in prayer each night before bed, hoping against all hope to change what was in me. But my father made me wonder if I could be a knight one day, taught me to sing their vows of honour and justice during those ungodly hours when sleep was far.
The hours when his blood called to us both in its ancient tongue. The hours where his stories became my Bible. The hours when the smell of lemongrass and rain filled the house.
The hours when I would be barefoot and dancing in the kitchen
Barely presentable yet undeniably free.
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 7:01 AM UTC
Where are the prisoners?
Where are the guards?
Watching. Ever watching.
Light floods this cubicle, and
Shadows entangle themselves in my sheets, while
The omnipresent and intangible eye gazes.
Devoid of visibility, only
The gloom confides in me.
The power of perfection entrapped in a hoop.
Our ring encircles the guardian, who
Is invariably stalking. Plagued
Are the confined and deserted lepers.
But what of the locks?
Locks? The tower is our bolt.
The eye will find the madman.
Madness is also our disease,
Guilt triumphs over futile attempts, the
Belief is our ideology.
Indisputable solidity becomes imaginary, while
The goal is communal. We must,
Survive in a personal Panopticon.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
Each of you.
My individual singularities, Dad’s One Thing.
Conceived 1955.
Driven home, progeny, made man, unequivocal, indisputable.
Post-war night spirits undaunted ~ stop ******* me.
*** for you, stopped me.
Can’t make it the way you want. Please stop.
Backing off, I respect real you.
Don’t push me Me.
Don’t dream.
Will dream us.
Short sentence for guilt whisked way beyond what crime could be.
We combine beans and seeds and gourds.
That’s science! Culinary!
Botany, true, but I’m enaturated.
Human pod progressed.
If that’s a word, don’t dream it’s not.
Forget every word.
But make each and every word count.
Then add stash, socked away.
I concede.
Mi casa su casa.
Paint it.
Together.
Made mistake then fixed it.
Copasetic dovetails, my lady and me (not I).
We walk talk island jib.
I like the cut of your yar across the moonlit pool.
Go around with me to all haunts, snow globetrotting shaken not stirred
My déjà vu in futurum videre, I can’t believe.
Asunder goddesses should be together,
While Isis and Osiris boogie like Beatrice and Dante encircled,
Their own private imbroglio invaded
By Goth end time alchemists conjuring copyrights for gelt.
You tell me this short story.
I cringe.
My mind clouds men’s, and then conjures Morpheus.
My shadow child joins me in Paradise,
Deliria dancing in concert with Shakespearean intent.
My daughter’s got more guts in one pinky
Than all that fallen pilot on our island bargained for
In the games that decided who’s hungrier.
You could have been that gal.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
It's a thousand tiny cuts that you receive
From the moment you're born
Waiting for someone to tell you that you are beautiful.
You yearn to stay youthful
You've learned the indisputable fact.
Your inherent value as a person
Reduced to your physical appearance
And given a numerical value online
For what is a selfie without it likes?
This is enough to make anyone cynical
Because everyone is the enemy
Like buskers on a busy street
All are competing for the attention
Of the passing indifferent crowds
All singing to be seen, to be known
Even just for one fleeting moment
It is a strange but primary emotion of the human condition
Decreed at birth to need validation
And this foundation is firmly instilled in us.
We never learn to fuss about it, as society reminds us
That there is nothing to discuss.
Sign up and accept the terms and conditions.
Show yourself to the world.
Nothing beats the sensation of adoration.
Even now, right now, I am showing myself to you.
So tell me I'm pretty, world.
Tell me I matter.
Tell me I exist.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
**It's the, highly lyrical, pinnacle breaking, mystical, miracle making, atypical poet slash prophet.
The tricky, sick trickster, mister, tongue-twister, off the scale, Richter, freedom dream fighter.
A bit unusual and, slightly delusional, it's indisputable, beautiful written poetry.**
*Words flow just like a novelette,
Make music like a castanet
A master of the alphabet,
Just tag that as my epithet.*
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 9:40 PM UTC
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
They come prepared
For an all out war,
And they are ready
To fight tooth and nail
Until no man is left standing.
With supplies unceasing and
Weapons of mass destruction,
All of our lines of defense will fall.
We are not capable
Of withstanding the continuous onslaught,
Indisputable is their power,
Unending is their greed,
Unimaginable is their cruelty,
Unwavering is their faith
In complete and utter victory.
Inevitable is our demise,
Inapt are our defenses,
Inexperienced are our allies,
Inexorable is their march to
The beat of our doom.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
Passion drives them onwards
To conquer all lands that
Dare to oppose them.
We can not hope to last
Like the Spartans at
The Battle of Thermoplyae
No matter how strongly
Our laconism inspires us.
As mankind’s future dims
And is ultimately vanquished
Before our very own eyes,
We can only hope
That our end is quick
And merciful in execution.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
As I watch the heads of
Friends and family fall,
The decapitation of hope
Is as absolute as the blood
Smeared across the castle walls.
We refused to listen as
They cited holy scripture
To vindicate the necessity
Of our annihilation.
We held strong to our faith
In eternal glory as martyrs
For our philosophies and convictions,
And they bore witness
To our determination,
But we bore witness
To their determination
Only to watch it demolish
Everything we cherished.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
I have uttered my final statement,
To forever be the last
Hoarse whisper of my existence,
“You will see the error of your ways,
And I will not repent for the sins
You claim I have committed.
I will let the all knowing
Judge and condemn you all
For the atrocities committed
By your people.”
Then my blood soaked
The soil of my Earth
As my entrails slid out of me,
And I fervently tried to
Force them back inside,
But it was all in vein.
And my final vision
Before complete oblivion
Was my still beating heart
In the hand of my enemy.
Die Zwergen Armee kam
und Wir starben.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:43 AM UTC
On your shoulders, slender waisted maiden,
you carried the burdens of this earth: like
Atlas of the old, you of Amazonian strength;
Yet today you sink, weighed down by
the vanishing vestige of shadows aflicker.
Shadows that consume all, engulfing nights,
harbingers dark of conflagrations rise.
Disbelief is our creed. But enough we believe
to vote them to power, our leaders we so love.
Yet in the hour of decision, we must believe
in their indisputable dishonesty.
Yes, aliens are around, Area 51 is for real,
late night appearances on Larry King live?
For the select few, sure, for a select price.
Osama did not die. In fact, exist, he never did.
Flags felled of the towers twin ? False, them false!
How belief, when Iraqs can happen?
Whither the weapons of mass delusion?
Conspiracy. In bloodlines is our interest
but not in the man who gave that blood for us.
Alas those to preach that love vested,
too are in gossip and scandal invested.
Fickle is our love, the mistletoe occupies now
the sacred space of the matronly banyan, and
the owl upside down, for the dove beloved old
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
There are too many things I regret telling you, darling. I regret telling you about how when I was little I nearly died in the accident that totaled my parents' Jetta. I regret mentioning that I felt like your Halloween costume was more important to you than I was. I regret that you let me convince you to help you clean your ******* room so I could feel important. I regret every tear I've made you shed and your pain is carved into my brittle bones so I know just how much I've hurt you. Honestly, I've started to realize how much of a miracle it is that you haven't changed your mind about loving a broken and battered shell of a human being wearing a smiling mask that comes off so slowly it peels away what's left of my pale, flaking skin. I'm surprised you're still interested in my thinning body and tattered soul. My name falling from your lips in ecstasy still sounds so foreign, like hearing a language you never even knew existed. You look at me like I hang the moon in your night sky, making me feel unworthy of the way you treat me, not like a broken toy but rather an ancient heirloom to be treasured and mended. I find myself tossing and turning at night wondering and worrying and whittling away at the fragile self confidence I build when I'm with you and I ******* regret. I regret not opening up and I regret the indisputable fact you could do so much better than me. There are still so many things I regret and letting you read this is one of them but these are all things you need to know and my heart is still in pieces beneath our feet. Yes, there will always be things I regret, but loving you will never be one of them.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
Sonnet: The Ruins of Balaclava
by Adam Mickiewicz (1798-1855)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, barren Crimean land, these dreary shades
of castles―once your indisputable pride―
are now where ghostly owls and lizards hide
as blackguards arm themselves for nightly raids.
Carved into marble, regal boasts were made!
Brave words on burnished armor, gilt-applied!
Now shattered splendors long since cast aside
beside the dead here also brokenly laid.
The ancient Greeks set shimmering marble here.
The Romans drove wild Mongol hordes to flight.
The Mussulman prayed eastward, day and night.
Now owls and dark-winged vultures watch and leer
as strange black banners, flapping overhead,
mark where the past piles high its nameless dead.
Adam Bernard Mickiewicz (1798-1855) is widely regarded as Poland’s greatest poet and as the national poet of Poland, Lithuania and Belarus. He was also a dramatist, essayist, publicist, translator, professor and political activist. As a principal figure in Polish Romanticism, Mickiewicz has been compared to Byron and Goethe. Keywords/Tags: Mickiewicz, Poland, Polish, Balaclava, Crimea, war, warfare, castle, castles, knight, knights, armor, Greeks, Rome, Romans, Mongols, Mussulman, Muslims, death, destruction, ruin, ruins, romantic, romanticism, sonnet, depression, sorrow, grave, violence, mrbtr
Jun 13, 2020
Jun 13, 2020 at 8:56 PM UTC
Pure, collapsible, indisputable.
Oozing inside with purpose.
Vicious slime invades the orifice.
****** and pulsing;
unfiltered specks;
all untarnished space.
This sprawl leaves it's mark;
stains like blood
or coffee as it drips;
collected into vats;
like flies in the ointment.
The nature of the beast moves quickly:
video games or junk food.
On our eyes simulated,
stimulated, embossed on our souls.
Spoon fed groomed inspiration
pumps direct.
Into sacks of meat
vacant gunk sloshes.
Glommed onto cells,
demanding position.
Consumes virtual reality,
the avatars,
our status,
updated or not.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
Truth couldn’t find a place to sleep,
He decided to lie.
Yo mind was sincere, saying Hi.
Yo smile is talking, but couldnt speak
Oh you are indisputable
Now I see’
injuries are inevitable.
My breathe so freeze'
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 2:23 PM UTC
That it took some time
Overtaking our fear
Is now a precious memory
Reminiscence of yesteryear
Today it's indisputable
Permanently clear
Our bond became eternal
Our concord ceaseless and sincere
In passing I take a sniff
Scenting a souvenir
Of your folded pajamas
In case you're no longer here
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 12:37 AM UTC
Reflections
I lie placid silent and calm your great winsomeness reaches over me not disturbing in the least you add a
texture that is signature peace when caos ripples in the wider waters I know soft shadows speaking
revealing a clarity upon this mirrored glass of my soul you are as light as a breath speaking in a whisper
as the night follows day you reveal your self flawless is the transition from light to darkness you are the
sum total of many voices in diversity much is added the common theme harmoninous interchange
where there is lack then you add the needed part without fanfare this is what makes value as golden
moments increase significance the volume of spirit pours in and the soul rises out of view submerged
ideas latent with good will tells the story in deeper depths where shallow and empty realities find
a residing place now they are displaced as added instruments inrich musical pieces giving more depth
and feeling the empty darkness catches these delightful strains a soothing wave seems to fill the broken
spaces moonlight medicates with a silver substance brings euphoric doses as if disimbodied goodness
waves a magic wand you rise and drift on unseen wings a playfulness enters the heart you know not
from where but from borders of tranquil regions the flow emblematic dreams stream ubidden into the
mind the glory yet tasted is somehow permeating our stiff halted lives freedom brought from
inexaustable climes measureless helps will be as the tide if we will close ourselves from distractions that
are plentiful and short circuit our whole beings be still and know That I am God the human cry is what
shall I do in those golden yesterdays they put out rain barrels when they wanted soft water how much
more should we be catching the soft water falling from heaven to counteract the hard and at times
brutal actions that we unleash on one another tears and weeping are not unmanly they are the secret
guides that allow us to behold ourselves and then with power that restrains outward mindless acts that
hurt and offend gentle sense created by comfort from an indisputable place of well being you hold the
higher ground your decisions are true and correct and from placid to unerring truth you divide and map
a true and correct path
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC
We all know that history repeats itself
And when you finally face defeat, it's hell
The torture one has no choice but to go through
Free seats to a painful ordeal, Row 2
I don't think you have ANY idea how it feels
When your state of mind just surrenders and kneels
It's agonising, you just wanna release what you hold inside
The feeling stays, it will never roll or slide
What's going on is the truth that you can't deny
All I can do now is just rant and cry
And that's what this is, but do not sympathise
There's the indisputable fact that I was victimised
I was taken for an idiot, I guess I just realised.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
I don't want anything ordinary.
I want an indisputable, unquestionable, irrefutable, and incontestable love.
I want to be above any ordinary relationship
without assumptions and arguments about who is she and what is this?
I don't want to have to doubt what we have and what we've made exist.
I just wanna be happy that we've gotten this far.
I don't want to search and lurk for trouble.
I wanna look into your eyes and know that whatever our result is, it's **** sure worth it.
I don't want to be uncertain.
I want to know what trust is.
I want to know that this is where you choose to be under any circumstance and in any situation.
I want to be the number one choice.
But forget number one because theres no type of list.
Me. . . us, this is it.
I want you to forget about everyone of the past.
I want you to only feel this.
I want you to let go of the "was" and "had" and "loved" and let every word you speak be present tense.
I want this to be it.
I want you to live in the moment.
Every song I hear I can't think of anyone else to compare or relate to my emotions.
Not even if I tried,
because once you came into my life you activated my tunnel vision.
You stole my heart without permission.
And I'm not complaining.
As long as you're here to save it,
from any lack of contentment or lack of commitment cause its too weak to take it.
I want you to step into my shoes and look through my eyes.
I want to love you with a passionate aggression.
To feel mutual dependence and feel no need to seek another companion.
For you are the only option.
For you are my main topic.
These poems would have no substance.
The base of each of my discussions.
I want a love that's never reluctant.
Beneficial without being unnecessarily public.
You next to me is a compliment.
I want you and I want this.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
Love Everlasting
Have we not witnessed
How the midnight scary dark skies
Are lit up so carefully and timely
By a million humble, and yet enthusiastic, blazing stars
As we lay attentively beneath,
Swimming in our uniquely assigned portions of life
They smile, they shine upon us
Too brightly and yet so naturally gently
Haven't we witnessed?
Have we not noticed
How after the heartless destructive storm
A rainbow of multiple colors
Has laid itself so perfectly in position
Across the tired and idle blue eastern skies
As we stare from below, hopefully
Hoping zealously for a better tomorrow
She stretches, she beautifies effortlessly
And yet our hearts so sore and heavy from the storm
Our faces still light up with wide smiles
Haven't we noticed?
Now can one deliberately deny
The strong indisputable power that lies
Way up above what sight can tangibly comprehend
So much light, too much truth
So much evidence, so much reason
To trust, to believe undoubtedly
And mightily
To the mighty
Love everlasting
Mongi C. Nkabindze
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 10:51 AM UTC
Reflections
I lie placid silent and calm your great winsomeness reaches over me not disturbing in the least you add a
texture that is signature peace when caos ripples in the wider waters I know soft shadows speaking
revealing a clarity upon this mirrored glass of my soul you are as light as a breath speaking in a whisper
as the night follows day you reveal your self flawless is the transition from light to darkness you are the
sum total of many voices in diversity much is added the common theme harmoninous interchange
where there is lack then you add the needed part without fanfare this is what makes value as golden
moments increase significance the volume of spirit pours in and the soul rises out of view submerged
ideas latent with good will tells the story in deeper depths where shallow and empty realities find
a residing place now they are displaced as added instruments inrich musical pieces giving more depth
and feeling the empty darkness catches these delightful strains a soothing wave seems to fill the broken
spaces moonlight medicates with a silver substance brings euphoric doses as if disimbodied goodness
waves a magic wand you rise and drift on unseen wings a playfulness enters the heart you know not
from where but from borders of tranquil regions the flow emblematic dreams stream ubidden into the
mind the glory yet tasted is somehow permeating our stiff halted lives freedom brought from
inexaustable climes measureless helps will be as the tide if we will close ourselves from distractions that
are plentiful and short circuit our whole beings be still and know That I am God the human cry is what
shall I do in those golden yesterdays they put out rain barrels when they wanted soft water how much
more should we be catching the soft water falling from heaven to counteract the hard and at times
brutal actions that we unleash on one another tears and weeping are not unmanly they are the secret
guides that allow us to behold ourselves and then with power that restrains outward mindless acts that
hurt and offend gentle sense created by comfort from an indisputable place of well being you hold the
higher ground your decisions are true and correct and from placid to unerring truth you divide and map
a true and correct path
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:45 PM UTC
We are living in a miracle
Visible to only those who take the time to ponder, wonder.
To those who come back from wonderland in a trance
High on imagination creativity would never miss a dance
A chance to set the soul free
As carefree as could be
Every moment was a miracle, mystical
Through her eyes everything was possible
The world was enchanting.
She wonders, wonders of everlasting stars
Of the way we fly through space with nothing but grace
She wonders of the pure unadulterated joy in a baby’s smile
Reminding her that it’s all worthwhile
That if you open your eyes and admire the butterflies
Painting the skies you start to realize
Every moment is a miracle beautiful
The evidence is indisputable
Every creature irremovable exceptional
Every snowflake exclusive
Every second elusive
Every mountain valley and stream
The air that we breathe
Thoughts that lie beneath
The blood in our veins
And the complexity of human brains
Explain the fluidity of humanity
Every atom is a miracle
Enchantingly subtle
So take a step back slow down
Look around I promise the world won’t disappoint.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
Succulent lips that have become my indulgence.
Finely shaped, is it wrong to say they're perfect?
Indisputable tenderness, creating sensations of pure happiness.
Moments with them are eternal pleasures in minutes of passion.
Inspiring stars to fall, convincing gravitation to hold back its attraction and lift us up until we reach the heavens.
Kiss among the planets while the stars float around us dancing.
Kiss eternally
Kissing my only.
May 7, 2010
May 7, 2010 at 7:57 PM UTC
There are moments when God's light shines bright across the sands of time,
revealing the difference between right and wrong with an indisputable line.
A line not drawn by the hand of man, it drips from the heart of God;
as unrighteous men reject his plan and refuse his grace for a rod.
When those times come and the line is drawn and God calls for men to stand,
you'll find us there at the break of dawn; in His light at the line in the sand.
©2003 Michael S. Davis
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
The sound was deafening
The earth griped groaned and grumbled
Beneath their feet
Seconds of mobocracy
Followed by
An eerie silence of confusion
Shock and awe
The sun sat high unnerving
As the dust settled
Exposing the grotesque macabre
That is now their reality
Tear trickled traces speckled with blood seared
Upon muddled faces covered of soot
Stood surreal against the carnage
Unabled to grasp what has happened
Trudges about in symbiotic aloofness
Slowly a crescendo of wails
A wretched affair
Sliced into the mid day air
Sending chills to all within ear
Sirens heard from the distance
Approaches quickly
Adding to the cacophony of sound
An orchestra of pain
Reminiscent of
Dante's Inferno
Rock rescuers to the core
Bodies strewn and dispensed
Lie unrecognizable
Young and old alike
For death does not discriminate
As neighbors extend helping hands
Black and white
Slowly the healing begins
We can breathe again
Live again
Trust again
For surely hate cannot be
Allowed to win
The outpouring of support was astronomical
The love felt was undeniable
People say I'm ideological
But love conquers hate
And that's
Indisputable
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC