"mercenaries" poems
Trump invades Nicaragua;
lights a powder keg to the
relief of everyone; let's get
on w/ it; change the world;
otherwise Nicaragua threatens
to become another Syria w/
Sandanista vs. Sandanista &
drug lords & communists;
mercenaries; contractors
& experimental weapons;
welcome to a world that is torn
completely in two to everyone's
relief for the sheer catharsis;
that is what frenzied freedom
looks & feels like; touches like,
smells like, ***** & eats like;
the madman in the marketplace
is the last person who can spell
Bourgeoisie & Ancien Régime;
Disestablishmentarianism &
Nouveau riche; time & technology
will turn the soil of psychology
churning up some never before
seen creature; mankind is suicidal;
this new Being will have no such
concept; coming in & out existence
like walking through a door; time
is meaningless running in countless
waves in all directions; space is
flexible like clay; women & men
create each other to the limits of their
imagination; Newton laid the foundation
& Einstein painted the ceiling; Pascal,
Hawking; Leibniz & Nietzsche & every
poet that ever lived or never lived; every
celestial siren & songstress who whispered
in a magical scribe's ear & he scratched
the miles & hours & places & people there;
thus, it began somewhere far out in space;
but they've been there all along; peaceful,
loving, able to shape-shift to perform
pleasurable functions in accordance w/
mankind's selfish wishes; mankind thinking
it's putting one over on the new species,
still finds itself bogged down in Nicaragua
long after Trump has built his Presidential
Library & joined the aliens like everyone
else; the poor Nicaraguans & Guatemalans
& Hondurans fighting it out to the death;
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
Only ONE RACE
the HUMAN RACE.
The dividers
and conquerors
all trying to convince you
otherwise.
And they are
NEVER
on the frontlines.
They
manipulate
you
stirring up
emotions
hatred.
That people should die
for the mistakes
of the few.
God hates those who stir up strife.
The only
so-called
winners
are the manipulators
the millionaires and billionaires...
those who orchestrate
the mess
who PAY people
TO HATE...
turning them into mercenaries
MERCENARY
HATERS
AND
MURDERERS
and NOT for the reasons
they think.
The ORCHESTRATORS
don't care
ONE WHIT
about the cause
ONLY
about the
POWER and CONTROL
they
HOPE TO GAIN
when they
"HAVE TO"
quell the mess
and put out the fires
Which
THEY CREATED
by
THEIR MANIPULATIONS.
BEWARE
how people
try to use your emotions
for
THEIR GREEDY GAIN
TO CONTROL
YOU.
WE ARE ALL
ONE
RACE
THE HUMAN RACE.
Reach out
try to
LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR
YOUR BLOOD IS ALL THE SAME!
WOUNDED
ONE
DROP OF BLOOD
IT'S
ALL THE SAME.
cj 2016
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
God ******
mercenaries
vipers
hypocrites
The Lamb of God
sold into the marketplace
led into the slaughter
The Love and Heart of God
now a harlot
for the desires and pleasures of perverse men
--honestly, I have more respect for a Lady of the Night, than religious ****** who traffic in holiness
The Spirit of God
miracles transformed
into entertainment and to rake in filthy lucre
The Banner of God
leads an army of hate
The Pastor of God
exiles a member of Christ’s body
The sacred Writings of God
twisted into a message of
judgement, guilt, intolerance
I am dismayed
disturbed
disappointed
disgusted
… I have seen too much
The Heart of God bleeds, tears fall from His eyes
How long will this go on?
Is there vengeance and a special place of punishment reserved for those who commit such travesty?
For those who trample on the Blood of the Savior?
--Serge Banderet
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 3:48 AM UTC
These, in the day when heaven was falling,
The hour when earth's foundations fled,
Followed their mercenary calling
And took their wages and are dead.
Their shoulders held the sky suspended;
They stood, and earth's foundations stay;
What God abandoned, these defended,
And saved the sum of things for pay.
3k
Tis' what we read on the papers
Tis' what we see on the television
Their vision and perceptions
Their stereotypes and plans
What is the truth?
Tell me, show me, down in the valley
Tell me, show me the reflection of the river
Tell me, show me the hope I long to touch
Tell me, show me the wicked terrorists
Who are they?
Those who claim to be the heroes
Those that aim to pain the human race
Those whose politics is like poly-tricks
Those who control the media and sell reality
In the galaxy whisper.......
Whisper, as these mercenaries are ruthless
Whisper, as these crazed creatures rule the world
*Whisper, as these ***** sell the same old story again*
Whisper, as these lies they give are well spent to confuse
A reflection in the mirror glare
It's not ironic that my fuse is blowing in trips
It's not a rant, but open the wider realms and eyes
Its not a truth but the hamster wheel they rotate
It's not a lie that the manipulation they fixate aches
Edward Snowden, John Lennon, Noam Chomsky, Bob Marley
Whisper because if you speak loud as Snowden
they won't pardon but promise to crucify your flesh
Whisper because if you speak as John Lennon
they will sacrifice your fresh to the turbulent rivers
Whisper because if you speak loud as Noam Chomsky
they will eradicate you from the facade institution
Whisper because if you sing the truth as Bob Marley
they will put you in a volcano as it cries eruption
Attack their gravity of lies ??
My beautiful people, I am sick of the system
My body is weak and my soul denied it's nature
My mind knows that it is ridiculous, the blues
My heart rules but it is slowed by the dishonesty
My beautiful people, I am you, you are me, we are we
My tongue justified as it tears cloud in the dark alleys
My lungs are deprived of the radiant oxygenated air
My all knows that the democracy they sail is an autocracy
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC
Humans
I need not necessarily
your flesh to multiply
but your brains to think rigorously, strategically
artfully a way
to tear down your Tower of Babel
painstakingly and indifferently built
from the bones and blood
of a few amongst your kind
now as my mercenaries be enslaved
suffer from undiagnosable symptom called
Murderous
On clock but not grid they gather
be summoned
by the cry of their ancestors' resentment
spill unto this Earth I breed
unto your downfall I feed
For I come in greater numbers
I am Legion
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
Arcane rumblings bellow out from the infrastructure.
The secrets swell out from the wealthy infidels. Their water has broken.
The top-hat henchmen gather their whiskers.
Stuttering shock and leaking their whispers,
vulcan-loud.
The wise old casualties know all of what’s to come,
so they pack their sacks with their old guns
to fortify their army of one.
The news skips the billions of ignorant families
condemning daughters and sons to an army of none.
The first bullets abandon their barrels,
the kick-off to pain, from poise.
Eager to byte flesh, fur, faith,
eager to make some godawful noise.
The following blasts are a metallic symphony
Quickly looming, swooning,
booming into cacophony
in shrill-major.
Blood spatters pavement, under marching feet,
is dragged, looped about the streets in a homicide calligraphy,
paralyzing the squinting mercenaries.
Out come the canons,
dancing on their wheels,
silencing the gunfire,
spinning on their heels,
dissenting the sonata with rifle-explosion accompaniment.
Warrior sighs greet the late auxiliary:
armadas sing in baritone
while civilians scream soprano.
Children cry in alto.
Blood flows in legato.
Today some of us will die
so that the rest will open their eyes
to an oversky, cloud-bloated with lies.
While down below we blaze away our requiem.
And by the hand of this same melody we die.
Here lies humanity,
fashioning,
always,
a bellicose smile.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
This is a tale featuring the great superhero, SNOGGO
That ******* dangerous horrific and scary beast would not terrify me. Who was I? Some little stupid ******* weedy spastic? No, I was the great fearless SNOGGO! Yes! Yes! Yes! I was the magnificent SNOGGO who had faced (without flinching much) so many humunguously terrifying events! So I picked up the mighty hammer and struck out fearlessly: 'Wham! Thump! Crash! Boom!' I gave the terrfying monster a ******* great bashing.
I was enraged yet not terrified more than was absolutely necessary. Did you erroneously imagine I was just some little weedy wimp afraid of attacking a terrible adversary without a platoon of Hummers (whatever they may ******* be) full of mercenaries recruited from the slum trailer parks of Hades? 'Take that you stupid evil cunty ideologue!' I yelled, *'Take that! And that! ******* take that!'*
My God, I bashed that vile and 100% hideous creature ******* senseless. I was so ******* brave, just as brave as the worthless ***** who will soon be called heroic US veterans killing innocent Arabs left, right and centre throughout the entire ******* Middle East to please their Zionist taskmasters, God ****** them. I was incandescent. I was SUPER-FUCKING SNOGGO! I would triumph over adversity in the name of ******* freedom's ******* bell! Ding-dong!
As so it came to pass that, finally after a tremendous struggle in which I nearly lost a fingernail, the immature pink dwarf hamster lay lifeless before me, squashed into a puddle reminiscent of a flattened dead hairy ripe tomato. *'Bring it on, you ****** pansy,'* I bravely thought as I ****** my comrade's flaccid **** eagerly as we cowered manfully in a burnt-out mosque, preparing ourselves bravely for a spot of rendition among the local orphans.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
.
'No man is an Island'
Maybe not true my Dear friends.
Perchance in general, contact is good.
But take a good look.
There are many Islands in the emotional ocean
with closed harbours and sealed ports.
Refugees of romance; Tortured traumas;
Insane individuals; Mental mercenaries;
Each one a lonely star,
a pinprick of light, disconnected,
on a girdle of the sky,
protected by a carapace of experience,
cold, distant, drifting further from the source,
in a race for consolidation and annihilation.
Islands of safety become Isles of danger.
Selfishness; Self-hate;
Self-perpetuating; Self Destruct;
The inward circle and downward spiral
cloaking the Island, shielding its existence,
shunning the continents of integration.
So can it be true my Dear friends,
no man is an Island?
© Pagan Paul (28/06/17)
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
paid mercenaries
these are not riots
this violence is all paid for
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you are stirred up pawns
you have been pawns
for a long, long time
voter puppets of the democratic party
not ever expected to think for yourself
so easily used
and manipulated
kept in a different type
of slavery
shaped and honed and fed
like cattle
in a stall
to be used only as
inseminators
(let's create more voters)
not allowed to be fathers
(let's **** the family)
(family?)
( what's that?)
fatherhood
a forgotten trait
only progenitors
raised by generations of women
on the dole
fathers not allowed
in the home
used, used, used
can't
won't
see it!
stirred up in the cauldron of anger
who are the real haters????
???
??? whose lives matter???
???
only those killed and used for media attention
and believe me, they are used by everyone
from the president on down
never waste a good crisis
and
when necessary
create
one
do the large numbers
of
brother killing brother
matter?
and why not?
we don't hear about those numbers
on the nightly news
guess those lives must not matter
do the lives lost
the babies killed
the genocide of planned parenthood
one in every neighborhood
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
no one speaks of them
why not?
why not?
why not?
why not?
why not?
why not?
because brother against brother
and baby genocide
don't matter
to the media
HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
they all fall in line with Bill Gates
population control
anyway
only the deaths
used for
exploitive
incendiary
political purposes
matter
to the elitists
the George Soros types
and the media
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
generations of pawns
whose usefulness
will soon be over
being used one more time
to start all these fires
where will these pawns be
when the fires go out?
who will bother
to pay them
to feed them
then?
their usefulness
to massa'
will be over
then.
I cry for the pawns
for my brothers and sisters
for all the fatherless
children.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much
a life is worth so
a life is worth
a life is
a life
a
.
.
.
.
.
Cj 2016
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
Disarm those in power,
The charlatans of politics.
Discover who you are.
Don't be fooled by mercenaries,
And adversaries,
Don't submit to their scare tactics.
Revolt.
Originally written 4/8/11
Revised 10/21/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
A year out a year away I yearn for freedom far away
Far away far beyond to the place where cars go bomb
I would have joined the boys at the bar
But instead I’m off to join Hezbollah
When I arrived I jumped the cue
The bulletproof Jeep was waiting for me to
The rifles round the waist the men at the door
I had funny feeling telling me I had gone to far
Did I really just leave home to come this place
To join Hezbollah and their CIA mates?
Its all happening so fast I said after my first fast
What’s with the black robes and the cotton face masks?
Can I not just watch do I have to do?
Who are these mercenaries we have here to?
I hope you got my message amongst the blah de blah
In the letter I sent you from Hezbollah
I was lost but now I’m found mum, Iv been shown around
On the back of an armour plated Volkswagen I was driven around
I saw the desert slums, the graveyard pits
But the road was greasy from oil slicks
I was told iv grown up I was that I’m a star
I think I might stay here for a while with Hezbollah
It was goats knee that was fed to my face
Three days before I was to leave this place
Because I was chosen and I’m a star
White upper-class turned Hezbollah
Chosen amongst many to do what few will do if any
It was an open invitation on a Facebook group conversation
So to this night I say goodnight, till tomorrow and the good fight
I will not die in vain my pain shall be relieved with fame
I’l see you soon my ma and pa thanks to my savour Hezbollah
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
Open the gate and let us enter,
Or we’ll wrench the lock and kick down the door.
If it doesn’t drop, we’ll sledgehammer through
Forcing our way into your homes.
And bring up the dead to eat the living –
And the dead will outnumber the living.
We demand the precious ring عيسى بن مريم
Now show us the secret place:
We bomb the fiery doors of Hell –
Our slain disturbed they rise again.
Sleepers awoken from their beds.
They sing for the dust gave up it’s dead.
The whipping spur of mercenaries greed,
Roaming, ****** take souls for the cause –
Casually pledge for the Leader’s sake
Whole heart and mind was taken –
They stroked, caressed and kissed her.
Marked men turned into wolves.
Now woe to whom you honoured!
The fickle god paid you back cruelly.
Passing you by as a cheating lover,
As if fairy tales can be heard.
He guided you from above the sky?
It’s fallen in and you pay dearly
Enslaved by things of worldly nature,
Your vigour was lost, vision unsightly,
Now history’s gone, snared –
The traps you fell into laid,
Manufactured by slick rulers,
Your nobles are now lying down.
Sandy graves have been prepared,
Rows of seven, Jannah, Heaven,
For proud in battle we never falter,
Whips flashing and blades to the ready
Hear AK-47s shooting idly
And dare you not squeal:
“My brother, do not let me perish!”
For this day the vocals of our song
Smother the kaffirs weeping
Women lamenting sacrificed children,
Slapping their faces because
The dead will rise and inhale the stench.
Are you sleeping paupers of the globe;
Rich folk feast yet you are fasting.
Who is there to help on these wretched streets?
There is no relief. The wound is incurable.
Some around the world hear and rejoice,
For this evil is transmitted continually.
Open the gate and let us enter,
Or we’ll wrench the lock and kick down the door,
If it doesn’t drop, we sledgehammer through
Forcing our way into your homes.
And bring up the dead to eat the living –
And the dead will outnumber the living.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Devils and mercenaries
Dislocated shoulders
Second hand panic
Static cling
Visions broadening perception
Decrepit linoleum houses
Men in the front yard, *****
Crawling in search of a fix and some pants
Viles of junk, baggies of powder
An unexpected destiny of agony
Forced to dress up to please a higher society
They won’t let me go
With all the information I know
The despicable disciple’s pillars of animosity and distain toward the rebellious over flow
Never a hunter always a prisoner
The bounty is huge for this lone survivor
Two lunatics in a rubber room
One claims to be captain of a magic carpet
The other believes his skin is on inside out
Both sunburned and daffy
Her armada of refusal of failure goes unmatched
Even my resistance is unparalleled to hers
Electric shocks, water torture, brands, beatings, lashings and floggings
My beard is torn from my face
We will not surrender our splendid fascinations of the galaxy for you provincial ideals of pain and suffering to teach the divine path to enlightenment
How sadistic
We both lay silent and prepared
****** and bruised
Devising the slaughter of their brutal oppressive cult
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
"As you prepare to hop into New Year and celebrate its Newness, ponder and think of Aleppo-Syria, S.Sudan, Congo and many warring Nations. Pray that 2017 may be a year of peace and consolation."
ALEPPO!
For Humble Humanities of Aleppo-Syria, S. Sudan, Congo and all Warring Nations, Peace be upon you!
Aleppo, beautiful Aleppo
There only as a desolate sad memory!
Aleppo, a sadly stolen ivory
Aleppo, cry-tears without a drain-dry
Aleppo, last of light
She has fallen, fatally
Beautiful bride of Arabia
O sweet heart of Syria
A rubble of rust dust
She lays lost and desperate
Scraps-a mass of maimed mess
Aleppo, a tale of was
Aleppo, a lonely woman in deep grief
Aleppo, a loner lost in her wilderness of laments
Aleppo, Aleppo, fallen yet not mourned
Aleppo, suffering yet not aided
Aleppo, dilapidated yet of sweet taste
Aleppo, fallen, fallen to unrecyclable waste
Aleppo, pathetic crumbled rubbles of past pretty paste
Aleppo, women mourning
Aleppo, men groaning
Aleppo, children moaning
Aleppo, wasted, as world silent watches
Aleppo, true, war profits some, war is a profiting business!
War funds Big Uncle Sam and his Allies’ economies
For Aleppo falls in silences of his bullish bragging democracies
Like Libya, like Syria, like Afghanistan, like Iraq……
All falls to their allied mercenaries
Women suffers, men labours, children’s-offers of overs
Aleppo, a wreck of debris, a forgotten woman
Aleppo, a ***** and left woman
Aleppo, a defiled and done man
Aleppo, a molested and mutilated child
Aleppo, a shell of hanging skeletons
Aleppo, bones and fleshes long gone
Aleppo, fallen, fallen into an eternal sleep!
Aleppo, fare-thee-well: Aleppo, rest-in-eternal-peace!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
Down on G street
To the left of the newspaper stand
And frame shop
The girls whistle their own names
In a cappella F minor
My fingers their all tangled up
And my feet bend inward at the toe
I'm a broken vessel for you baby
And I got nowhere else to go
Turned fifteen yesterday under a spilt milk moon
Stars were shining down and I felt my heart start to croon
Granite pastures and mile long red lips
She turned to me and said, "I'm gone," a black belt swinging from her hip
There's too much love
Not enough time
Keeping your head above water
Seems to be the only trick
At night stars tear themselves to shreds
She snores in whispering wed
Forgetting myself for the sake of St. Peter
I understand all before that were slave to the meter
Dear Beauty:
When the sun doth set
It sets solely for you.
Hair black as smoldering volcano ash
And Ye' smile
Like a newborn babies laugh
You are the mile upon minutes
And the thought that makes theories
A storm that hast ney other fury
Is one for me in love that hath
No other query.
We fight.
We beckon.
We tackle jealously
Like new lovers.
I
Am in Love
With
You.
And I can say that
When the sun sets
And the moon rises,
So the sun rises again
For us and only us.
We are the forgetful souls of foreman's work:
Not soldier's, not mercenaries,
Not one's that turn their other cheeks to the brook.
Aye thy pride
Smelling of old sweat
And talisman hide
Ol' laughter
And a memory with feigning pride.
She smells of lavender
And I lay by her
In luck - the unbelievable kind.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
Special anti stupid squad,
Special anti useless squad,
Special anti buffoonery squad,
Special anti senseless squad;
Getting out of hand,
Daily harassments,
Of people of state,
Existing, but just barely,
Brazen extortion,
Shameless shakedowns,
Illegal raids,
Accidental discharge!
The super highway is lit,
Keyboard warriors are miffed,
Cyber mercenaries want blood,
Digital overlords call for war!
But vagabonds in power care less,
They demonstrate total disconnect,
Throwing around meaningless platitudes,
And high sounding refrains;
But why so many?
Arbitrary creation of demonic units,
Specialising in delivering sorrow,
To ordinary folks in the streets;
Why not ask yourselves,
Reasons the youth are agitated,
Why not make diligent inquiry,
Into rise in criminality;
The answers are not on the moon,
Look around you,
And see the gulf,
Between rich and poor;
A country that boasts,
Of the richest persons on the black continent,
Male or female,
Champions the poverty comity of nations;
Therein lay the solution,
Return to the people,
Their stolen past, present and future,
And see if need be for your SPECIALS.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 1:19 AM UTC
From far away they come
hard men all,
mercenaries under a foreign sun
oblivious to its rays they
bare all, turning puce red
or peel, under hard hats,
cut down jeans, working boots,
tool belts, like desert rats
fighting for a new horizon
Scouse, Manc, Paddy
nicknamed and framed
by the mockery of their peers
shouting language across green lawns
not yet laid, that most definitely
won’t be heard in the select circles
that will inhabit these modern homes
castles one and all, individually the same
oh no, they won’t be welcome
lowering the neighbourhood tone,
four wheel drive and pick-up
replaced by Mercedes and BMW
Nature settles in again, to frame
like the scar around a wound
healed but never quite the same
So they move on, soldiers of fortune,
mercenaries under a foreign sun
building new structures to change our futures.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 3:52 PM UTC
Curled like an ampersand
around a telephone
that never rings in time
with the words that sing in her ears,
She waits again.
Her hands and lips
cold-blooded mercenaries
that ****** what she can’t quite hold
with silence and questions.
with ellipses and time.
So she pushes again
seeking definition.
But finding the horizon has never been so hard.
Her vision so thoroughly blurred.
And the sunsets force her closer to a Something
she can’t quite believe in.
So she pulls what she knows
into herself,
rolls into a familiar shape and waits
for a phone that has always been ringing,
A voice she isn’t ready
to hear.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Hyperbole in front of me,
Political effrontery,
Lies dressed up as Scripture,
Treason beyond conjecture.
No hope of restitution
A gutted constitution
Guarded by mercenaries
Who hate blacks and fairies.
A pain to liberal brains
As hope goes down the drain
While major constituencies
Are sold out for SUVs.
Journalists lost their relevance
Kissing the haunches of elephants
In a mad rush every news day
To keep their beloved pay.
Chip-off-the-block jabberwocky;
Son talks his Daddy’s talky.
With no attempt at recompense
The fool makes little sense,
Hiding behind the leverage
He gets from his evil heritage.
There’s no need of morality
Or decency or much formality.
No matter how much criticized,
The wrongly, constantly victimized
Suffer the ignominy yearly
And continue to pay dearly
From our position down on our knees
As they try to rob everyone they see
And we are the casualties of infamy
Because neighbors stand by silently.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
Those aged between 10-16, trade in your toy soldiers
for real guns at Barrack No 33 along
mocambo rd. Come alone. Parents not invited.
Be well fed, watered, trained and tempered
in steel resolve to waste the enemy.
Uniforms supplied, washed once a year.
Make your playmates olive green with envy.
Sleep in air conditioned dormitories
roofless, and watch the stars glide in and out
of a universe you do not know.
Learn to **** ****** loot and march
in pincer formations up and down mountains
and rest near bubbling brooks and silver coloured leaves
in the jungles of dissent. Eat from tin can plates
and smoke delicious kat leaves to rev up your libido.
What are you doing playing with plastic toys?
we can give you real ones, real bombs, guns
serrated daggers,poison pellets, misty eyed maidens,
order your disorder.
(and bald heads for target practice)
Come my children,
learn the art of war
for the good of your country.
Sign up today
the commander will even shake your hand.
Become a real soldier.
Come in today. Come.
Author Notes
The rag tag mercenaries are resourcing real soldiers from the ranks. Sign u today. Learn the art of war. All recruits must be between 10-16 years only.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
My blood is no longer my own.
Mercenaries are coursing through my veins
paid to fight off the alien invaders.
Their war is tearing me apart.
May 9, 2011
May 9, 2011 at 1:07 PM UTC
He inhales,
The ghosts of death,
Little soldiers sent by Hades
To fight this battle,
They enter.
They'll climb through your lungs
Cling to them like leeches
And claw their way,
Inside out.
Eroding you from the inside,
Slashing back and forth,
Warriors.
He exhales,
And the injured leave,
Smoke curling around his trembling
Lips,
His face slack,
His lungs infected.
The soldiers prevailing,
Taking control.
He doesn't notice.
He'll stomp the cigarette on the ground,
**** the remaining soldiers left in that short little stub,
Exhale all the injured soldiers out,
Letting the smoke waft around his lips,
The way he let his soul spill out,
The frigid chilly air whisking it all away.
He's just a carcass now.
Half dead.
He doesn't have long left.
He's running out of time.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
Xenophon of Athens (/ˈzɛnəfən, -ˌfɒn/; Greek: Ξενοφῶν,
Ancient Greek: [ksenopʰɔ̂ːn], Xenophōn; c. 430 – 354 BC)
was an ancient Greek philosopher, historian, soldier,
mercenary, and student of Socrates. As a historian,
Xenophon is known for recording the history of his time,
the late-5th and early-4th centuries BC, in such works as the Hellenica, which covered the final seven years and the aftermath
of the Peloponnesian War (431–404 BC), thus representing
a thematic continuation of Thucydides' History
of the Peloponnesian War. As one of the 'Ten Thousand',
Greek mercenaries, Xenophon also participated
in Cyrus the Younger's failed campaign to claim the Persian throne
from his brother Artaxerxes II of Persia and recounted the events in Anabasis, his most notable history. Like Plato (427–347 BC),
Xenophon is an authority on Socrates about whom
he wrote several books of dialogues (the Memorabilia)
and an Apology of Socrates to the Jury,
which recounts the philosopher's trial in 399 BC.
Despite being born an Athenian citizen,
Xenophon was also associated with Sparta,
the traditional enemy of Athens. His pro-oligarchic politics,
military service under Spartan generals
in the Persian campaign and elsewhere
and his friendship with King Agesilaus II
endeared Xenophon to the Spartans.
Some of his works have a pro–Spartan bias,
especially the royal biography Agesilaus
and the Constitution of the Spartans.
Xenophon's works span several genres
and are written in plain-language Attic Greek,
for which reason they serve as translation
exercises for contemporary students of the
Ancient Greek language. In the Lives and
Opinions of Eminent Philosophers,
Diogenes Laërtius observed that as a writer
Xenophon of Athens was known as the “Attic Muse”,
for the sweetness of his diction (2.6).
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC