"ramparts" poems
Goats eat and **** the grass of ramparts,
stupefied cannons sit, garrisoned sentries
primed for nights of buccaneers,
seared by centuries of sun. Down shadowed
cobblestoned ramps, fortified shutters
covet rifle forend and barrel,
wresting rumored slave rebellions
from the locker of history,
while languid waves whisper indifferently
a roll call of human cargo,
chattel displaced, cast to the sea.
Here history sways to sounds
of brown skinned children
at play in breakers,
laughing, shrieking, thrashing,
buoyed by time to this vaulted brick
reverberating chamber,
here a window’s light is cast
beckoning vision past the beach,
to seek the horizon Icarus like,
to fly towards beauty in terror where
an azure sky conjoins a turquoise bay.
Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 5:14 AM UTC
I'd heard about problems with police
hard to hear harder to believe
personally I never had a problem
oh a few well deserved speeding tickets
probably cut a break no definitely
I drove very fast especially in the turns
roll-the-tires fast in the turns
that was me
and the more I heard the faster I turned
as a young kid I applied and was accepted
to six colleges six for six piece of cake
why the stress my SAT score equated
to an I.Q. of 1 above plant life
accepted open arms those WASPs loved me
graduate school one for one
best in the country
bar none MBA with honors that was easy
they called it the golden passport yes
passports are even faster
I never had problems
with band-aids
the bank
the insurance company
the healthcare system
never turned down
for a credit card car loan
life insurance policy
or request for a specialist
experience is the best teacher
and the more I learned
the less I wanted to know
and the faster I turned
then I learned
about certain specifics
certain policies
with regard to traffic stops
bank loans rental property
heath care voting rights marriage
read the color purple
and then that invaluable government
syphilis experiment
that would have been inconceivable
even to doctor mengele
that the star spangled banner
has more than one stanza?
really there were four stanzas?
MY country ‘tis of ME
and it was making me feel *****
learned that no one
voluntarily held that flag up
that hellish night
o’er the ramparts WE watched
as slave and freedmen
were ordered
to their near certain death
with the threat of absolute
certain death
then I watched a cop
shoot a kid in the back
in cold blood
near a merry-go-round
on a playground
in baltimore maryland
I liked baltimore
fast very fast he emptied the 10 round clip
of a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 27
into THAT kid's back no hesitation ******
baltimore baltimore baltimore baltimore
I hit the brakes hard
on those fast decades and decades
generations generations generations
of turning
I slowed down way way way down
stopped
took a deep deep deeper breath
then did what I always did and do best
I turned turned turned I turned around
and as I turned I woke
to kneel
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
Love is a thousand women who fail to amount to one,
Peasant seductress with bared shoulders of red dun-colored roads and candle smoke,
Who pours down her wet, ungoverned hair, like a fast-fading storm to dry over Aurelian walls,
In that dark sneer of sultriness over the sentry-like stillness of ramparts and stone,
A wasp in water whose sibilance comes from what the sting makes,
Like the upgathered phalanx of spears in the sand,
Or the sisters of fate who have coiled their hair as sunset snakes,
Her fingertips ***** into me like much-traveled and ancient rain.
Apr 23, 2023
Apr 23, 2023 at 11:03 PM UTC
"NEVER shall a young man,
Thrown into despair
By those great honey-coloured
Ramparts at your ear,
Love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair.'
"But I can get a hair-dye
And set such colour there,
Brown, or black, or carrot,
That young men in despair
May love me for myself alone
And not my yellow hair.'
"I heard an old religious man
But yesternight declare
That he had found a text to prove
That only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair."
5.4k
These birds of war that encircle the sky
painted dark by smoke from fires engulfing
events here: every one of them spawns
an illusion, spreading in all directions, until
no twig is untouched: everywhere only
the Mistletoe. Fragrances of the deep night
by the ford under the moon, silken hair
soft for touch under first rays of the golden
morn, images, return broken like imprints
on the ramparts; where now, those oaks
of love that sustained our passion for war?
Years sunk into the quicksands of greed,
After nine winters, now only the Mistletoe.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
Radiant palace—reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion—
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This—all this—was in the olden
Time long ago),
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute’s well-tuned law,
Bound about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate !)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh—but smile no more.
5k
I gave the hero of this story trust
issues. So that when his castle fell he
wouldn't worry about the damsel still
calling from the ramparts, where I hold court
in the dust. For this is my battlefield
where the headstones will read like love letters
and the weeds will serve as the royal seal.
I gave the hero of this story hope
a magic bean and two old china cups.
But the china, brittle, the bean rotten
as these once fertile lands lie waterlogged.
You can't grow your crops here, boy, go home.
I'll drown this hero before he can stand
the sight of the muddy bank. A hero's death.
I gave the hero of this story bread
water, and melody. To help him sleep
soundly and noiselessly, still. Arms, pillows
sway to the metronome of the city
beating such a heroic retreat. Stand
with fingers touching, childlike and brave.
Until the next wave comes and holds. It breaks.
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 10:34 AM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before dark-fall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
Within those walls were crowded halls
with classmates never met.
Tormented now and evermore
with sorrow and regret.
Passersby we remember well
but really never knew,
A feeling of remorse today
for not befriending you.
Pleasant greetings should not have been
so difficult to say,
Immaturity and shyness
somehow got in the way.
Perhaps we should inspire youth -
It’s not a daunting feat -
To greet others with open arms,
no matter whom we meet.
Within those walls were crowded halls
with classmates never met.
Tormented now and evermore
with sorrow and regret.
Those halls and walls are sure to fall,
ramparts will crumble, too,
But maybe we are bound to rise
as we will follow you.
When the final class has ended,
and bricks are never-more,
Perhaps God’s all-gracious grade book
will balance out the score.
In His luminescent classroom,
with bright and lucid view,
I pray that there’s an empty desk
where I may sit by you.
Within those walls were crowded halls
with classmates never met.
Tormented now and evermore
with sorrow and regret.
The poem above was written for our 45th class reunion, for the 1970 class of Forest Hills High School, Sidman, PA
#classmates #high #school #reunions #regrets #sorrow #passingon
Written by
Dave Potchak 67/M/Central PA
— The End —
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 9:56 AM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before darkfall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 5:51 PM UTC
once there was a White Knight
who stole away my fears
rode a mare called Dignity
out of thin air he appeared
once there was a White Knight
equal in loyalty as in compassion
he slayed the dragons inside my heart
in the humblest of known fashion
once there was a White Knight
with a past as black as night
who had become the best all on his own
and now claimed every fight
once there was a White Knight
who sang lullabies in my ear
countless hours in fields of poppies
when he held me, called me Dear
once there was a White Knight
always coming to my aid
taught me about love and its function
never asking to be paid
once there was a White Knight
who never really said goodbye
a court of fools he called friends
stood by like ramparts where he could hide
once there was a White Knight
who still professed to care
said he still respected my person
and that if I must call, he would be there
once there was a White Knight
but now he exists no more
potions, mirrors, black screens
lie scattered across the floor
once there was a White Knight
but now I bid him take his leave
because I've discovered the only Knight I need
is the Knight that's inside of me
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC
That brief moment
Walking into the shaded apartment to find you reading in flannel
And everything in me jumps
The camera obscura of my iris snaps,
Suspending you in amber light.
The tapered elegance of your fingers across a page
A glint of Versailles blue-gold eyes
And fortified ramparts of your shoulders.
I will carry this vestige with me
In a petticoat pocket
Until we are old
And your arms do not lift me as you just did
The last strand of your hair is silver
And your cheeks sink with age like your father’s.
These small gems of youth
Of promise
To keep in a sleeve until they are needed
And the mirrors show reflections we cannot change
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 9:11 PM UTC
There's a place between society and the wild
Where aimless bodies are piled
We call it the Wastelands
All creatures die of old age
Or hunger inside this cage
The deer are never hit by cars
For they never travel that far
The Wastelands use fear
That's what keeps them here
The Wastelands are a scary place
It's horrifying how nothing happens
It becomes too much to face
So we hide under satin
To provide comfortable resting
And avoid Wastelands testing
The Wastelands are a barren environment
Solitary coyotes learn from the cacti
Who soak up meager moisture
And become prickly to protect it
Never knowing if nourishment was near
They grew prickly because of their fear
We inhabit the Wastelands
We're trapped here
Where the walls of the city
Seem to mirror
The walls of the wilderness
So it's here we build our nest
But surviving is a constant test
Because we have useless hands
Here in the Wastelands
Wastelands
Interaction
Is reaction
Create a faction
And never leave
Even if love cleaves
It lies behind ramparts of containment
And the fear of society's arraignment
Even if peace calls
It stays behind walls
Of trees hiding predators
That keep us embedded here
So we ***** barriers to protect us
From the barriers surrounding us
We find our connections through hatred
And build teams around it
We made foolish deals with Satan
This is what we're amounted
Scavengers from both worlds encroach the Wastelands
Journalists and artists mine our souls
Vultures mine our flesh like gold
Taking what they need and going home
Our rabid mouths begin to show foam
From the frustration of loss
But inactivity is our cross
While we watch carrion feeders
Carry on eating
Our friends
Until we turn and look away
Knowing that'll be us one day
Because in the Wastelands
Friends are just creatures who are near
There are no animals to hold dear
We're afraid to lend an ear
When Wastelands use fear
The Wastelands are hell
Dry river beds tell of a time
When the rain fell
But now we're plagued by drought
You can tell by looking at the trout
They flop on the ground
Wondering where to wander for water
The cacti remain still
It's the Wastelands will
In the Wastelands we wait to die
Although we really want to fly
We're just afraid of heights
Which impedes our sight
Where we can't view over our own barricades
It's fear that prohibits our ability to elevate
And we see that the order is too tall
Back into the Wastelands we fall
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
Calabash Squash
A Poem by Eclipsing Moon-blood red
entry for a contest...rhythm
Hip- hop jury swapped
Hippity- hoppity sequestered they stop
Bibity- bobity alone on the cobblestone.
falling in- falling over
The balcone wailing, and buckets pailing, and hailing, and
Scaling
The walls and ramparts the cannons were whaling
Moby dicking and schlicking the schlock of the clock… hickory dickery ..where is the Doc?
Blind mice made the move..up one "grandfather side.
... and
Over the top .
Now wasn’t that a quainty dish to set before the Queens …
in drag
© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 4:04 PM UTC
This was my sand yesterday,
Hot and gritty,
Yet comforting, embracing
Under my towel.
Troves of precious shards of shell
Mapped into mind
With the jellyfish abandoned
By the tide
Just out of reach of cool waters
And a pool carved
With ramparts and towers,
An ambitious child's construction
Proudly pronounced eternal.
But we took pictures
To remember,
Anyway.
Now, after breakfast,
Into blue too perfect
This morning's sun rose
To a sky spilled
Cloudless and clear
Over new land
Reformed by night swells
Gulls and terns blown on,
Friends' footprints cleared,
The castle lost
By waves or wind's gusts.
It seems alien now.
My toes dig ever deeper
To discover if warmth
Is still here, hiding below
The surface of what I can see.
Morning's winds fling
Biting bits chipped
From far-off mountains
Cheek and legs sting
In force of anger born
Far offshore,
While the children nestle
My jacket for shelter
It can't give them today.
The tourists left - the sand is ours
To reshape, imprint with feet again.
And plan for tomorrow -
Umbrella, blanket, pails,
Embrace sea's eternal rhythm.
We'll stay.
Sep 19, 2009
Sep 19, 2009 at 3:36 PM UTC
Where does solitude end
And the beauty of love begin?
We must allow our emotions to permeate
Our spiritual vestibule
Before rapture dawns
Like an empyreal gust
Within, upon, and throughout us,
Then our bliss will no longer be ephemeral,
It will be everlasting.
Someone on this existential expanse
Loves you
Beyond words, Beyond thoughts, beyond
Time & space,
With cosmic understanding;
Like, age-old supernovae
Radiating with stellar light
Until their macrocosmic romance
Waxes nebulous:
—Dust to dust.
You who are gleaning these words,
Contemplate your immortal value
As a living legacy
That Burgeons & blossoms beyond the day
Of your exodus from the Earthly Plane
For the soul is a seed
Radiating with the Eradia of Ages;
Therefore, shine
Until The Flora of Yore, Yggdrasil germinates within.
Lamentation makes you more loving,
Just, wise, and strong;
Yes, embrace every moment
That life brings
For Providence safeguards you
Within His Celestial ramparts.
"But the path of the righteous is like the bright morning light
That grows brighter and brighter until full daylight."
(Proverbs 4: 18) (NWTSE)
You have an undying will within you,
You are a vessel of sanctity
Intemerate & hallowed;
Yes, you have been set apart
For an ethereal crusade
With no known beginning &
An indeterminable end;
Exhale, you are Life, Love, and Liberty,
And a Spark of The Divine.
It is true, that you are the experiencer of
Your joys, your sufferings,
Your exultation, and your woes,
But you must ne' er forget
That you are not alone;
Therefore, walk forevermore
In the Baptismal Rays of The Sun
For you were borne with purpose,
O, Warrior of Light.
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 1:48 PM UTC
War paint I always found unnecessary:
Gloss for manicured lipstick commercial princesses
Not of my kind.
And though I walk with shield, I am without armour:
Ramparts mere cheekbones,
Bare skin impressionable as snow.
Boot-print,
The mark I hated. My characters:
Frail tree rings, exposed to the chill night air.
Gold inlay frozen solid.
The fairly bound dream factory
Lies purple with melancholy.
It’s the world’s bruise. It colours sudden,
Shadowing the other side of the room
Where it paused, rare moth
Lighted upon my dark reflection,
A Mona Lisa dressed in black
And reminiscent of bobby sox.
Beauty without fanfare.
Stuff of woods: we do not glitter.
We don’t call out.
Our tongues are both dumbstruck bells.
Shy rabbits, we fold within ourselves
And sequester our secret pulp.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
My face blue
I race through
A misplaced zoo
Where disgrace grew
Into a mistake stew
Like the River Styx
Where people mix
Into a wall of bricks
That makes me sick
They steal my serenity
But when I look ahead of me
I see that I'll need them
To experience freedom
So I amass suitors
But I don't see them as sons or daughters
I see them as polluters
I see them as pirates and marauders
They see love as a doorway
To their own complacency
In order to see me more days
They take away my agency
Instead of aiding me
They start grading me
No longer elating me
They start deflating me
I shoot a missile
Of dismissal
Into the barricade
Of the bed I made
And keep sailing on
By flailing on
The floor
Begging for more
More people
More walls
Another sequel
Another fall
I have erected a maze
Where I've elected to graze
Deflecting their gaze
To enjoy wandering days
I experience happiness
Without their craftiness
But I begin to get lonely
My mouth starts foaming
I search to find ramparts
That can't part
Where landsharks
Eat the parked
Stuck searching
Perpetually perching
On the ledge
Of the wedge
Between myself and others
Looking for cover
I built protective walls
That became too tall
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
A foul wind blows off the wastes
Across a border set in stone
A land caught in winter's embrace
A fortress stands,
Stark and steadfast against the dark
Walls that have broken sword and tooth
Helmeted sentries
Alert and ready upon the ramparts
Never knowing peace
Wed only to death
Within the walls, life goes on
The chatter of townsfolk,
Hawkers shouting their wares,
The stomp of armoured feet
Marching to the city's heart
The keep
The citadel at the heart
Firm and steadfast
Held by men of valour,
Peace favour their swords.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 9:33 PM UTC
Don't mistake me for a common man
Not a usual materialistic person I am.
But I'll be the wealthiest man alive
When the gem with me I will have.
I look for a diamond immaterial
In a woman with a crystal heart.
A heart that beats for herself
Pumps truest love for myself.
Love she so kindly imparts
I hold onto it for ramparts.
From this world a respite
Alone I'm always so quiet.
Beautifully alone it beats
A saga it always repeats.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC
Antihero
An old stone built tower stands above all on the skyline;
The curves of its body twisting spiral’s in the air.
The moon shines around its peak, which reaches up so very high.
It is surrounded by a castle keep,
That is an image of a burnt out nightmare.
The castle walls are in pieces, like its people,
Cannon fodder their game.
The drawbridge has fallen, but the iron gate still remains.
The shadows in the night speak of a desire to be the enemy within.
The voices of the fallen spit out their final endless scream’s.
The sound of war is upon the castle door.
No more escape for its inhabitants,
Apart from those who are fleeing through the century old tunnel.
The secret passage to a way away from all the savage.
The army continues to do battle, at the top of ladders and ramparts.
All have been affected by this battle’s damage.
The sorcerer of this cursed land,
Stands in the furthest, most high room,
Shooting lightning at the wall tops as the chaos reigns below,
Where all is doom
And in a final decisive action,
The sorcerer reads from his big black book;
The ground shakes, the fire falls and all enemy are shook
And thrown from their steeds in front of the castle gate.
In pieces they bleed and from the tops of the castle walls,
Those who are falling will never be saved.
They crash to the floor and become no more.
The sorcerer falls to his knees, exhausted of power,
But he has put an end to this midnight war.
No protection was given by the enemies armour.
Their swords and shields crashed loudly as they hit the ground.
The enemy is no longer the invading warrior;
They are all running in fear and their last sounds are all dying out.
As the sorcerer takes the final step down from his twisted tower,
He pushes open the thick oak wooden door.
As he walks out into the open air courtyard his face is a glower;
No living enemy can be seen, because the enemy are no more.
His men are all cheering and shouting his name,
But the sorcerer is not laughing with them, for he has a plan.
He tells them this morrow they will all fight again,
So they must all prepare to once more stand.
Some voices of discontent whisper within the ranks;
Some of them openly criticize his view.
As he creates a ball of flame that hovers above the palm of his hand,
They all realize he has been their antihero
And he could be their demise too…if he chooses to.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 8:51 PM UTC
There are places that shine at night
Those are called homes
There are places that are never bright
Those are called tombs
So what does it mean
When I sit alone at home
Stranger to a light never shown?
There are people who think they have my back
They don't know where my back is located
Or that I'm impervious to the attacks
Because my stoic back is gold plated
And those that stand behind me
Feel free to chisel chunks
Pieces fall off me as their lives grow richer
There are bars that block my freedom
These are called cells
All the stars have mocked the kingdoms
Before they fell
There are things that last
And things that pass
Like broken glass on the grass
No freedom or friends
Or home to mend
My heart's broken parts
Sorrow ramparts
Guard my frantic mind
From your barbaric kind
Until I'm trapped with only people I love
I begin to hate myself
Because I love them so much
There are people I cannot touch
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 5:38 AM UTC
I was once a castaway
Of an unforgiving sea
I made a castle in the sand
To ease the pain in me
I made the ramparts ten feet tall
The walls were four feet thick
I filled the moat with lots of sharks
I built it brick by brick
I walked the walls most every day
No rescuer about
But I did not want folks to come in
I wished to keep them out!
The sand was cast in hate you see
The mortar my foe's blood
I repaired the walls quite often 'coz
My inner tears would flood
Within the walls, a prisoner,
My anger was my meat
My only water my own tears
They washed about my feet
Finally the water rose,
From weeping, o'r my head
Their waves erroded at the walls
And the SEA was fed!
Whilst the walls were quickly shrinking
A tide, like floods, came in!
All the sharks went out to sea,
My destiny was grim!
I made a fine, tall castle, yes,
Of sand & shells & grout
To shelter me within? Oh no!
To keep my loved ones OUT!
And others unforgiven.
And the ones I hated.
And other prejudices, yes,
That went on unabated...
And so I found a Mighty Rock
Upon which I stood.
I finally found life's meaning, *YES!
I finally understood!*
Forgiveness? A DECISION.
To put pride on the shelf.
And freeing up your fellow man
You become FREE YOURSELF.
Though for years, I drank my tears,
My thirst was never slaked.
And hatred's fused & melted sand
Does not a DIAMOND MAKE.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/3/2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC
I am floating through space
Which seems like staying in place
I keep floating through space
Just in case
Something amazing happens
But expectations are flattened
I see stars in the distance
They're as small as infants
Complete blackness is all around me
I cannot crack this wall surrounding
My empty heart
Social ramparts
Extend into space
They're what I must face
So I float in circles
Like bubbles
And revolve like a moon
Around you
And your pistol
And black hole
When you act cold
Radiation from the sun pokes holes in my skin
Like bullets in space
The bullets that erase
My foolish hopes and dreams
Of a permanent spot on your team
Deciding to give up I become fetal
At the end of your space needle
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
The battle waxed strong indeed
Waves of flesh torn and whipped as if ricked
Bodies lie near fallen steeds
O'er blasted ramparts and shredding thickets
The abhorrent hounds keep the track
Styx holds, nay - awaits its reservation!
Death himself lacks much tact
And souls line up in proper station
The dark takes everyones hand
The heathens tear savagely at the door!
I raise, chin quivering, but stand
As black bodies fall to the floor.
Though they take all whom am-
What they cannot take, while with breath I stand,
Is my honor.. My honor!
My Honor... As a Man!
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC