"mongers" poems
Dimension beginning of vile ****** exposed,
And the Emperor has no clothes,
While helplessly strut a mighty walk without a shame.
Course of history repeating itself,
Like the flow of water meeting in the river of streams,
But recycle through the clouds and back to the ground it flows.
Are we so blinded by the glimmer of the mirage of oasis in the desert,
We toast with sands of dune to quench our thirst of our plight,
And all is but a fickling light ducktaped by words of unintelligible muddled murmur?
This is truly the flawed design of our time,
When we no longer promote arts and crafts of philosophies,
And religious cults of zealots condemned the science and Academia by berating it's achievement.
Likes of ancient times of Agora and the height of it's human enlightenment,
There are forces of deconstruction of society of choas ensued by hateful fear mongers,
And systematic inward of national fevor of berserkers leveling progress.
Maybe another dark age is inevitable,
But little seed of hope I feel tangible,
And sometimes event maybe a phoenix.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
I feel like a friend-- a true friend,
is more than a profile on a website.
And peace is more than a handshake agreement
brought by the outcome of a gruesome fight.
I know that self worth is more than someone's opinion,
and in no other dominion but mine own to foster and care for.
And I can see that happiness is more than having money, sure,
cause most of us laugh everyday here, and come on, we're dirt poor.
And I pray the human soul is more than Casper's counterpart,
somewhere between the heart and the pancreas.
And God, faith is so much more than cryin' and dyin'
over spilt milk between religions.
And in case you were confused, "I love you", is more than
pet names, bed games, and ***
Music is more than pimps, hoes, and MTV Shows, and T-Pain singin through a computer.
Believe that life is more than grades and degrees,
or drugs and disease,
or the 'ABCs' of success that some old man wrote a thousand years ago.
This poem has to be more than words strewn together
to voice my discontent at the status-quo..
Hell, the word "more" itself is more than a one-syllable statment
that what we lack in the present
is just a larger quantity of the **** "we already have",
and no!
The power of your silent agreement is more than that
of my voice alone, so...
What is "more"?
In many ways, "more" is the friend you never had.
More peace in the world would end all the mindless bloodshed.
More respect and selfworth would bring beauty back to youth,
especially to the women in the world,
that sell their unique souls to look like the cover of Cosmo.
More faith, that grants serenity in the times of hardship,
will be the soothing hand of an Angel on our shoulders as
we say, "I love you" to our enemies, martyrs for a better world.
More positive music will inspire us,
to be the change we want to see in the world, today,
instead of, "Waitin' on the World to Change "♫ ♪ ♫♪
So ladies and gentlemen, make a decision: if you want to be
critics and vipers,
war mongers and hope-snipers,
ignore my intention, and live with more division.
But, if any of you are artists starving for meaning and inspiration,
if you envision a world of more than... THIS...
Then let a word change a feeling,
change a thought, change a meaning,
change your mind...
And get more out of life.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 1:38 PM UTC
The Sword of Non-Violence
The time we born
Is a age of war-mongers
East to West
South to North
Throughout the World
There's not a single moment
You can't heard about a war
It's a must in our daily life
May be in lieu of civil war
But it exists
None can disobey it's presence
And,where there is a war
There must be a weapon
And,in true sense war can't be without weapon
There're so many varieties of this weapon
Even may be countless
But,once a person made exception
Yes,he invented a sword
The SWORD OF NON-VIOLENCE
Strange it seems to be
But,it's fact
And,we should proud of him
Because,he's an Indian
We all know him as Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi
Also renowned as Bapuji i.e Father of Nation
We celebrate his birth anniversary as a holiday
But,did we even use his weapon once in our lifetime?
Surely,the answer would be no
But,if we really respect him
We should do so
Isn't it?
Think it off!
And,last of all I would like to conclude with
If he can so we too-Written on 02.10.2012
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC
amidst the terrifying news
that oozes daily from our television
I wonder what our world is like
is there indeed nothing to report
but global warming war and refugees
greedy power mongers and ****** politicians
why does the money I donate
seem not to make a difference
in suffering Africa
end global violence and exploitation
help refugees to find a home
I wish the news were more exhiliarating
and lift our souls
rather then send them
into useless desperation
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
**IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA BASE FORTHWITH. ALSO,
ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS, SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS, WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, COLONEL CLINCKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES, VENDORS, SUPPLIERS, SALESMEN, ASCCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS, HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, PIMPS, HOES, HOBOS, BUMS, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS, TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS, COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS, RELATIVES, FIANCES, GIRLFRIENDS, BOYFRIENDS, FAMILY, FRIENDS, ENEMIES, EVIL NEMISIS', CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS, QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, **** DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, (PRE OR POST) MALE IMPERSONATORS, ***** ***** VAN ***** **** VAN **** LESBIANS, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, YOUNGSTERS, SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS, LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, PECKERWOODS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS, DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS, SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICINE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES, WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS, PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS, RIGHT WING, LIBERALS, OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS, THEY ARE NOT TO CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBER.
BUT IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME.
........................................................................BA-ZING....................................................................**
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
Five minute street artists
and insomnia mongers.
****** drunk blondes
and finger snapping phat booties.
Street geniuses
bred by Machiavellian philosophies
cypher dreams over tokes
of marijuana smoke.
Color worshipping narcotic traffickers,
and bread winners
parole corners
sporting fitted caps and twisting fingers.
Senile war veterans
beg for change in cardboard boxes
from the American dreams
they afforded.
Hard workers with every ethnicity
molded into each pore of their face,
rub shoulders with tourists at traffic stops
barely escaping tires crushing their feet.
Sartorial geniuses with no pants
switch hips in knock-off stellos heels,
selling the origin of the world on avenues
next to Arab Halal food.
Cooperate ties and blue collars chafe ***** on subways.
nodding in and out of Daily News articles
while oxygen blessed by asparagus ****
pump through their noses.
Summa *** laude number runners dictate economies
From sky-crapper offices,
And powered rain swallows their concrete each winter,
With no apologies.
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC
War is a suicide,
of the body and the mind,
releasing spirits to the sky,
war is a suicide.
War is a suicide,
a fatal sacrifice,
of a life.
When all the stars align,
will we realize,
that it is time,
to end war.
How can man,
sacrifice his life,
for a falling mankind.
How can man,
risk it all,
just to fall.
War is a suicide,
a fatal sacrifice,
of a life.
When all the stars align,
will we realize,
that it is time,
to end war.
We're hungry for war,
we're hungry for more,
we're hungry for gore.
We're the mass murderers,
we're the world killers,
we're the war mongers.
How can man,
sacrifice his life,
for a falling mankind.
How can man,
risk it all,
just for the great fall.
War is a suicide,
a fatal sacrifice,
of a life.
When all the stars align,
will we realize,
that it is time,
to end war.
War is a suicide,
of the body and the mind,
releasing spirits to the sky,
war is a suicide.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 10:23 PM UTC
Today, I’m sharpening arrows
to aim them at
politicians with snouts in the trough,
clerics who preach peace for themselves
but hatred about others,
academics who promote freedom of speech
but run a Gulag Archipelago
for those who don’t follow their own ideas
or buy their textbooks,
hypocrites everywhere,
celebrities in general,
people who don’t smile,
people who aren’t nice,
(why are they here?)
fanatics, tyrants and power mongers,
(there are a humungous lot of these)
boring people,
(they wouldn’t be boring
if they could just try to engage a little more)
and those who block supermarket isles
with their trolleys while they stop and gossip.
I’d really like to put a few arrows in their butts
to puncture their pretensions and hear
the subsequent hiss of preciousness
unless they sincerely promise
to be more considerate
and try to love a whole lot more.
Now. I don't insist they have to love prodigiously,
but I reckon they could lighten the **** up
just a little, and try to laugh more frequently.
That's all.
Mike T Minehan
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC
5 million angels of God with a shortage of love
10 million small feet without a heaven to call their own
orphans of a lost war, children of hunger and distress
the loving nest in their parents arms got blown to shreds.
So they suffer, innocent souls that have no were to hide
in tears of pain, in between heaven and hell Muhammed walks
in a drone strike a child’s future in the last thing on anyone’s minds
Every day war mongers cultivate the future enemies of this land.
Suffer the little children, the infants, the school kids, the toddlers
In the hot desert sand burn and riddled with bullets lie their rotting corpses
their small eyes staring blank into infinity and no one dares to close them
sleeping on ravaged streets barely out of their strollers.
Wish I could send my useless hands to heal their wounds
the American invasion of Iraq became their tombs.
Suffer the little children in sulfur
victims of greed, lust for power and oil
pray to Allah every night to care for them
children without a future, victims of a war they didn’t deserve.
And so they suffer.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
nefarious nested newfound
minds gather in dim-lit bedroom
shining with love.
taking seconds from an
extended time frame.
what eludes to harm done
comes from adultration
of a vision - friendship.
it's been said, no loyalty with
dope fiend drugdrugsdrug addicts.
when under the greensmoke
light of a cracked window
and wheezing-- OH the wheezing--
of youth taking
extra time to become
tomorrow's electronic future.
it's gonna be different
than yester-year, dear.
20% of our feeble country
engages indulges
in this ancient sacredity
&as; for you, my dear ones,
sitting in the dark,
jeopardy, saw IV, daft's
harderbetterfasterstronger
--"i've never seen so many colours!"
my heart calls as yours does,
for a future we're waking up to.
we're not violent vicious vile
backstabbing cold-mongers.
if anything,
laughing at them.
quoting movies, queueing memories.
preparing for world dissolution.
i hate the bane too, kids, but we
know who we are.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 6:05 AM UTC
I've been going right on, page by page,
since we last kissed, two long dolls in a cage,
two hunger-mongers throwing a myth in and out,
double-crossing out lives with doubt,
leaving us separate now, fogy with rage.
But then I've told my readers what I think
and scrubbed out the remainder with my shrink,
have placed my bones in a jar as if possessed,
have pasted a black wing over my left breast,
have washed the white out of the moon at my sink,
have eaten The Cross, have digested its lore,
indeed, have loved that eggless man once more,
have placed my own head in the kettle because
in the end death won't settle for my hypochondrias,
because this errand we're on goes to one store.
That shopkeeper may put up barricades,
and he may advertise cognac and razor blades,
he may let you dally at Nice or the Tuileries,
he may let the state of our bowels have ascendancy,
he may let such as we flaunt our escapades,
swallow down our portion of whisky and dex,
salvage the day with some soup or some ***
juggle our teabags as we inch down the hall,
let the blood out of our fires with phenobarbital,
lick the headlines for Starkweathers and Specks,
let us be folk of the literary set,
let us deceive with words the critics regret,
let us dog down the streets for each invitation,
typing out our lives like a Singer sewing sublimation,
letting our delicate bottoms settle and yet
they were spanked alive by some doctor of folly,
given a horn or a dish to get by with, by golly,
exploding with blood in this errand called life,
dumb with snow and elbows, rubber man, a mother wife,
tongues to waggle out of the words, mistletoe and holly,
tables to place our stones on, decades of disguises,
wntil the shopkeeper plants his boot in our eyes,
and unties our bone and is finished with the case,
and turns to the next customer, forgetting our face
or how we knelt at the yellow bulb with sighs
like moth wings for a short while in a small place.
2k
History has shown
They will **** their own
Before living with others in peace
Have no doubt
That hatred is as nourishment
Sustenance
Subsistence
A necessity for existence
They can not do without
Burning hot as fire within the wretched souls
Of those
Whose evil knows
No bounds
Would **** you
As soon as kick you
Because your skin is Olive or Brown
Or you pray to a Deity
That your life revolves around
The depravity
The corruption
Never cease to be astounded
By
Those that NEED someone to hate
Who would these mongers hate
If successful in their efforts
To eradicate
Everyone who was, from themselves, different?
If they knifed all the *******
Burned all the *******
Chopped up all the chinks
Would this, their hate, augment?
If they tortured the towel heads
Killed the catholics
Hanged the homos
Would this, finally, curb discontent?
Or
Would the haters implode
And begin to feed upon themselves
Would short people
Shoot tall people?
Would merely looking at skinny
Make fatty incensed?
Would brown-eyed people
**** blue-eyed people?
Would red hair and freckles
Be a stoning offense?
Would black-haired people
Break blond-haired people?
This is a hate poem…
And hate seldom makes sense…
But sensical or no…
Seems the real status quo
Matters love that we show
There will always be those
That just plain NEED
Someone to hate
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 9:28 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
It’s a divide
A social division
And we’re gonna have to
Make a decision
What do we value more
People or profits
Greed is like ******
It’s hard to get off it
It’s a divide
A social division
And the greed mongers
Are on a mission
They could care less
About you or I
If they had their way
We’d fall off or die
It’s a divide
A social division
Will morality win
Over ambition
Or could that be
Mere hoping and wishin’
That things were different
You better listen - coz
It’s a divide
A social division
And the greed mongers
Are on a mission
They could care less
About you or I
If they had their way
We’d fall off or die
You see it’s a battle
For our heart and soul
So when will our values
Begin to take hold
Or am I mistaken
And all that is old
Because our warm hearts
Are suddenly cold
It’s a divide
A social division
And the greed mongers
Are on a mission
They could care less
About you or I
If they had their way
We’d fall off or die
It’s a divide
A social division
And we’re gonna have to
Make a decision
What do we value more
People or profits
Greed is like ******
It’s hard to get off it
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
"Chalk forest branches, Hermes of sylvan gloom,
Dark mists that flirt with the narrow streams,
Creatures that cherish the rayless nights,
Faery spirits and carnage mongers
All spread, at her feet, their obediences.
To her willow throne borne on braided flames
Lay heathen peregrines with claws and manes"
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
The birds are twittering in the trees
That stand outside my door,
There’s only a pale grey dawning light
‘Til the sun comes up once more,
The clouds are scudding across the sky
In an early sign of rain,
While the one I love went out last night
And never came back again.
She said she’d only be gone an hour
That she had to see the priest,
Her husband’s funeral’s coming up
And she owes him that, at least,
She went to purchase a single plot
So she took my leather purse,
To see what coffins the maker’s got
And arrange a horse-drawn hearse.
She only married a year ago
And her heart is fit to break,
She cried all night when she told me how
It was all a huge mistake,
‘I should have married for love,’ she said,
‘Then I would have married you,
But I let his money go to my head,
So what is a girl to do?’
We talked and talked through the early hours,
We talked and talked for a week,
She came unbid to my poster bed
Lay naked under the sheet,
She said she never had tasted love
As sweet as the love I gave,
But I was thinking her husband dead
And soon to go to his grave.
‘You really shouldn’t be seen with me
‘Til he’s safely in the ground,
It wouldn’t be right, the folks would say,’
But Elizabeth just frowned.
‘A love like this could never be wrong,
Let the gossip-mongers sneer,
I haven’t felt so much love as this
For the best part of a year.’
I said, ‘It must have been terrible
To be losing him so young,’
And caught a glimpse of a glistening tear
As she put her make-up on,
‘It goes to show how life can go
In the twinkling of an eye,’
She held my hands, gazed into my eyes,
And let out a heartfelt sigh.
She came back late in the afternoon
With a bundle of receipts,
‘It’s all arranged, we can get engaged
In a month from Tuesday week.
I told him that you had slept with me
And you should have heard him roar,
You’d better wait in the hallway while
He’s beating down your door!’
My jaw had dropped and my face was white
As I tried to take it in,
‘I thought you told me that he was dead,
Before we indulged in sin!’
‘He will be soon if you stand and wait
And you want me in your bed,
I borrowed the blacksmith’s hammer for you
To hit him across the head!’
David Lewis Paget
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
Never to have felt the wind of change upon your flesh,
to dazzle and dance on the precipice.
One jolt after another, character un-built..
Rarely to have left the bed unmade,
After nights of raw abandon, to gaze in a lover or a strangers eyes.
To let go and curse the parachute.
Teeth not brushed fail to bring forth the doom that was promised.
Un-cut grass does not shield waiting monsters.
Chipped paint and failing wallpaper tell a story.
A brush with the law wont quell the gossip mongers.
Alas, to be so safe quietens no mouth.
For they will talk anyhow and the sun will still rise, regardless.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
We yelled and staggered on
We stumbled and many fell
Detained in the perplexity
No respite as danger pursued
The ordeal ensued when
In the midst of clout struggle
The insurgents took up weaponry
Determined to surmount a dictator
That morning bewilderment originated
Helter-skelter we escaped for safety
Sad enough bullets out ran some
Especially as cross fires existed
We saw our Kinsmen reach for the ground
As though caught only with fatigue
But bullets indeed penetrated some
They lay motionless as we lurched on
Struggling to God knows where,
We knew not our course
No worst thing existed for us
Like the cross fires we were trapped in.
One by one we began to die that day
Randomly death swallowed us up,
While power mongers persisted
Fired projectiles missed targets for us.
We ran frantically in seek for safety
Recognizing us as restless victims,
The insurgents mercilessly began to
Extinct us with great delight
‘No one is surviving the assault
What do I do?’ I pondered hastily
‘Shall we all face our demise this way?
No, I’ll live’ I determined
Kinsmen had long fallen to rise no more
This fact gave me impetus to survive
To live and tell the story of the cross fires
History of the fallen most be told to posterity
Inspiration came to me at once
I unyieldingly fell down as one lifeless
Spilled, oozing blood entwined me
The killers shoot till no one stood
Everyone lay motionless in a stack
I lived however not too sure yet
The cross fires persisted for long
That at one point I envied my kinsmen
Finally, calm was reluctantly returning
The government militia advanced
The insurgents had not a choice
But to retreat in dread of superior artillery
We had unfortunately advanced towards
The insurgents that we became the target
Of the artillery that was meant to shield us
Blames on the wrong tactics by the militia
Abounded as calm was retained in days
But I had a story to tell of the cross fires.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
Not just a political affair
Or a public property
Not to use for commercial purpose
An individual right, a right of privacy it is
Every single heart yearns for it
Children from parents
Youths from old ones
Women from men and
Men from women
Lovers from the society
Politicians from the law
Government from the people
Nature from these greedy evils !
A common wish of every soul
Under a star is Liberty
Carried a meaning and
Few fame of tags, Liberty
For one nation from the other
For the poor from the rich
Carrying lot of meanings
With different names of tags
Fighting for Liberty from
Rapists,Serial-killers,Hackers,
Rumor-mongers,Media maniacs
Political monsters,hijackers
Living with a fear to live !
Finally the soul too wishes
Liberty from the body
Leaving it a deadly skin
Stopping its yearn to be free !
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC
The governments of the world have united,
acting upfront but they’ve really gone underground,
implementing a behind-the-scenes scheme
to defraud the global-people
of their money & sovereignty.
While we battle semantics, terrorist & drugs,
it’s business as usual for the real thugs,
who keep filling our pockets with gizmos
like I-Pods & I-Pads & tablets,
modern technologies
making our life’s simpler,
draining us of our hearts & souls,
forcing us to write about what’s missing
in this universe of abundance,
stolen by the greed-mongers.
I love you kindred spirits,
because you understand
these reasons for such emptiness,
this destruction of sacred spirit.
While others talk about it & do nothing,
you bleed your hearts & write about it,
trying to save a smidgeon of humanity
gone sterile.
You are more true
than any government on Earth,
you are a secret society of scribblers,
telling the truth.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
Funny how when the danger oughtta be respected
the fear-mongers downplay it.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
He turned and kissed her,
He put his hand on her stomach to greet the new life, his voice a purr.
Off to work he goes,
But no one knows.
Until this day,
When our nation was turned into a useless fray,
Where everything will soon be a monotonous gray.
He forgot his keys,
So he doesn’t leave.
Maybe if he would of stayed a little longer,
His life wouldn’t of been stolen,
From terrorist mongers.
He pulls away,
Not knowing about this day.
“Goodbye, my dear. You have nothing to fear.”
A silver car,
She thinks, “He won’t travel too far.”
Little does she know,
He will soon go.
Go to a place with angels and things,
Where he will gain his wings.
When the news announces the attack,
Her heart has been snatched, never to be given back.
Going to the towers,
Her heart plucked, like a balding flower.
The towers falling,
The children calling,
A fatherless baby brought into the world,
Never to be known as “Daddy’s Little Girl”.
That was the day her walls fell down,
That was the day, her emotions were in a bound.
Clutching the Hopeless,
The world in a mess.
Our nation too soon to be broken,
Before anyone could have spoken.
Our people will climb back to their knees,
Open your eyes, please.
We can tolerate pain for so long,
Before we proceed to right the wrong.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
in
your
face
hell
mongers
you sit in judgement
condemning the lost while
your wings conceal gluttony
envy, pr ide and avar ice like
sulfuric eggs. You drop on down
like harpy eagles on fish
just forget you
ever took on
the title of
'Christian'
because you
can rest assured
that Christ Jesus will
SoulSurvivor
2/7/2015
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
I might as well be a madman
Drive that rusty red truck straight up
Into a brick wall at breakneck speeds
What does society need with another romantic
A hopeless dreamer dreaming of a better world
Just throw out the tonic and fill my life with gin
Hand me the poison I’ve taken worse swill in
There is no way I am going to win
Against the corporate interest and the hate mongers
The powerful money makers that make us monsters
Just give me a good sixty to eighty miles per hour
Then watch me turn into a gooey blood shower
A swollen then exploding rare crimson flower
As my body shatters cause it never seems to matters
The politicians and the mad hatters run this show
And I don’t see this life getting any better
Cause I don’t believe society will heals it wounds
We’ll just be open sores for all to see
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
P.T.S.D.
In a panic of mindless execution.
Power mongers poured their scorn on brothers.
Brothers in arms.
Comrades, friends, acquaintances alike.
All brothers in the band.
Field of war a blaze of claret.
Grass no longer green.
Was a killing field.
Seen all for real.
Now a dream.
A nightmare.
A ruinous one.
Crying.
In sweat of chill he awoke.
Seen too much.
Seen too many.
Destruction in a black robe.
Hub-bub banging in his head.
Night until dawn
The racket ran in side his head.
Visions through childlike eyes.
Disturbed by evil images of war.
Friends massacred as martyrs.
Fight for hopeless cause.
It was meant to be the war to end all wars.
They all lost their lives.
His friends.
Nowhere left to turn
Put a gun against his forehead.
How he felt that bullet burn.
She placed solitary rose of red upon the remnants of his head.
Kissed his memory goodbye.
Dropped to her knees.
Started to cry.
No one could tell her why he died.
A true love.
A good life.
Gone in a gunpowder flash.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC