"resigned" poems
The sadness of losing
It's what's left
It was so true
to love you
It happened
but
I would love you ...
I would love ...
Come here.
Let me show you
I want to see
Maybe the hours ...
Or the mountains ...
perhaps
words,
I do not know
Maybe _ love ...
I stopped saying.
Stopped.
I resigned to love ...
the gods...
The flowers,
Kielos,
bit me
when i pulled them
To love you
Was like pulling a flower
I made you swan
The gods made me volcano
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
May possess a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the Pollock-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
For Max
O cruel, drunken soul, darling tigress,
Come to my heart, you lethargic beast!
I long for my trembling hands to caress
Your thick and glossy fleece.
In your petticoats filled with your scent
To bury my poor, aching head,
Inhaling your flowery fragrance;
The sweetness of love now dead.
I wish to sleep, to dream perchance
As sweetly as death’s embrace,
Without remorse, my tongue will dance
On your coppery body and face.
To bury my sobbing for hours
Nothing equals your bed’s abyss,
On your lips lies oblivion’s power
And Lethe flows in your kiss.
Like one resigned to meet his end,
I’ll face my fate delighted;
Docile martyr, innocent condemned,
Whose fervour with pain is ignited.
I shall **** to drown my malice,
With nepenthe and hemlock blessed;
Placing my lips upon the chalice
Of your pointed, heartless breast.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC
The landlord rented his space.
The landlord became suspicious.
He received complaints from other tenants,
Within a couple of weeks about loud music
And laughter coming from her room.
Banned from having friends in their home,
People would arrive in a van nightly during the summer.
The details of which emerged in the trial of insurance businessman,
Who was accused of helping her,
Without their knowledge.
She accused the abuse after a plea.
His mercy,
Her punishment.
‘The past is still very much a reality’ she whimpered.
Forced to watch for five months,
The wolf spoke as she faced the hearing
Without a translator.
They are forbidden to speak.
For her first 23 years, she was tortured.
Anti-social behaviour is having more than two people in his head,
Playing music so loud,
That it can be heard,
Outside of him.
The only person to feel the same resigned.
The landlord asked the hound to verify the affair.
He handed two leather-bound volumes containing a map of the marks.
It was on that day,
The landlord took the decision to leave seriously.
Once known,
He made the claim and gave no hint as to the tenant’s identity.
Up for a chance to win, We wish you safe travels.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
My inbox was always full
but I always made time for you.
Now, time tells me that I'm the fool:
you say you will, you never do.
You said you would, you never did.
Reclining, you could watch me sink
then toss an anchor down to say
you gave your all to keep me safe.
Don't get me wrong, we were both weights;
controlling, insecure, insane.
Like deep-sea diving in the rain,
not knowing it was all in vain.
Practice breathing, slow and steady;
in the ocean, hot and heavy and
screaming for a miracle
to help us find our way to shore.
Now, I think it discpicable
that I would move sea, sand, and shoreline,
just to make sure you were mine
-a pretty, washed-up shell resigned.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 1:48 AM UTC
I met a woman
brutal in her mercy.
Her embrace was a clinch
to prevent hard blows.
She pulled me close to push me away.
Seeing my nakedness
she leant me a dream
of chainmail and shield.
Taking love from me she gave a reprieve
to a mind resigned to the slow death of feeling.
Ignoring my words she heard
my faint silent heartbeat and
understood that it was music
too quiet for the world to hear
and turned it up louder
than I could stand.
I wept in my deafness
as she danced.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot,
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 2:41 AM UTC
I cannot write a sonnet; it's too hard
To put such barriers around my brain
And thus I find my efforts often marred
Although I rephrase again and again
I cannot write a sonnet though I try
Through day and night; through winter, into spring
And even though I have no reason why
A ten-syllable line my thoughts won't bring
But now I wonder just what is so great
About this iambic pentameter?
And am almost resigned that it's my fate
That from the sonnet form I should defer
Yet, having spent so long in search of one
'Twould be a shame if it should not be done
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 5:46 AM UTC
The greatest challenge my nature presents:
Love is harder to find
Hate is easier to find
Within myself and others
Is rejection different for me?
Everybody seems to know the pain of being unwanted
And idle threats and empty words are no stranger to rejection
But when you say you'll **** me if you ever see me again
The intention is clear
The existence of my attraction
Is grotesque beyond redemption
I thought I loved you...
When appreciation comes my way
It's superficiality amuses me
Because I know all that needs to happen
Is breaking down the wall to my mind
Or unlocking the door to my heart
And those appreciators will transform into detractors
Especially if the hideous leviathan approaches their vessel
Not finding women gross frustrates me
Because I have no reference point
For why people hate me so much
Which provides a reference point
For why I hate myself so much
It's difficult not to be dominated by this damnation
But there's no way people could understand
The daily subtle nuances
Why should they?
I don't constantly consider their lives either
Even if someone tried to comprehend my life
I'm not sure it's possible
I've been here the whole time and I'm still massively perplexed
I display my emotions
Disgust
I shroud my emotions
Indifference
I **** my emotions
Hatred
Is there no escape?
Even with sanctuaries along the way
Life feels like
Everybody swims in the ocean
While I'm resigned to my lonely oasis
Is it possible to feel more alone than completely alone?
Like a cockroach consigned to living under the refrigerator
It gets so cold and dark down here
I forage for crumbs only at night
Mortally afraid of human contact
For I know that the boot follows the light
And why not?
In a world where our priorities obstruct our compassion
How much consideration should a real human show
to a lowly maggot like me
When they have to worry about paying the exterminator?
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
There was a moment, so unexpected,
When I woke, seeking just ordinary,
Resigned to loneliness, unconnected,
Our encounter—felt imaginary.
Seeking isolation, no need for lust,
Appreciation gone, beauty no more,
Passion burned, with eyes I no longer trust,
You—a seduction I’d not known before.
Pulling back from feeling, and nakedness,
All the beauty, futile, unrequited,
Choosing instead dullness, and wretchedness,
Our spark—an extinguished soul ignited.
Recoiling, fear, cursed sexuality,
Libidinous impulses, uncontrolled,
Bare, on altars of sensuality,
You—inviting love I cannot withhold.
Kiss me, hold me, bring my love in deeper,
Forgive me, embrace me, don’t let me be still,
Touch me, and own me, and be my keeper,
Your look—I resisted, but have lost my will.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
I started on the rooftop
The empty sky above was all I had
And all I needed
It was pure
Like a blank page
Waiting for a story to be written
But at the first sight of clouds
I fled to the top floor
There were fun and simple things on the top floor
Like Pokémon games
I got red, white, and blue
The monsters seemed so banal and repetitive
But nobody else would acknowledge it
Sending me into a dragon's rage
I tried using flamethrower on Charmander
Ending in futility as I ran out of burn heals
I looked out the window in frustration
Rain was falling outside
Inside
Patriotism was buffeted by the hail
So I devolved into a lower level
Going further down this building
For ***** and giggles
I found more ****
Less giggles
On a floor with a TV displaying the news
I was eager to learn about the world
Only to learn everybody hates each other
And nobody talks
Or cares
And the smartest person in the room
Is the one I agree with the most
Unable to view the tokens in my mind
As anything less than treasure
And those who try to persuade me otherwise
Are thieves
My spite steals tranquility
Like the persistent storm outside
My solution is shelter in lower levels
My experimentation on communication
With the general population
Had rained on my playful parade
But I felt very comfortable on a floor with friends
Until they saw through my charade
Discovering my emotions in disarray
As the people who made me love this building
Made me curse it's walls the more I loved them
I searched for the peaceful embrace of solitude
Once the storm outside transformed into a typhoon
I found that solitude
In a tiny bare room
With a syringe and spoon
I was unaware
That room was an elevator
That lowered me down the concrete void
As the hurricane outside rattled me violently inside my box
Trapped and lacking all agency
I resigned myself to wherever the elevator chose to take me
After the elevator finished pulling me into the basement
The tsunami seemed to cease
But I was buried under debris
I had to burrow out of my tomb
The dig was tedious and *****
My perseverance was heroic
But triumph was thwarted
When I reached the surface
To discover only wreckage remained
And when I looked up
I saw the building I inhabited
It's damaged facade
Made it clear
I would never visit those floors I missed on the elevator
Above my building
Hangs an empty sky
It's purity is a lie
The page was never blank
Just constantly written on and erased
To lure innocent readers into a tome
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
Behind the eight ball
she sits.
Resigned.
From her pimp's
leash,
she's lead.
Deadweight, she feels
his ways and ills,
like cattle, that's branded.
Best she hustles,
or be backhanded.
Once molded,
she learns to light up
Big Daddy's cigar
and bring him his pie loaded.
More cabbage to fill his gold baggage.
Sometimes he spares a small leaf for her.
Though times she short, his fist takes sport.
And every night
she plays for the band
of her john's,
singing their song,
while a thousand ****** of light
inches along all wrong.
The nameless, faceless and most relentless
getting their fill.
A flower in her wails loves not fear.
However, Big Daddy's eyes are always near.
She knows better than to run
past the pasture gates
onto verdant fields,
free as a bird,
without a home, money or vocation
and ever so fearful of Big Daddy's gun.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
As she remembers those first tears.
A Big Daddy's indoctrination.
It started off on social media,
a whim
a fantasy went wrong.
Three nights her body violated,
Big Daddy's cavalry,
descending on her picnic,
wax and whips,
a thousand ****** of might,
and the scream of the night.
Coldcocked.
Say hello to the new girl on the block.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
Her youth robbed as the days morph into years.
Like a blur.
The guise, the lure, the drugs, the fear.
The trap.
Eighteen young became twenty-four old.
A lost puppy to her folks back home.
And every lost night
she struts her Prada dress a little higher
Big Daddy has a buyer.
Logan Robertson
7/27/2018
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
must we call for adventure when death lingers
a fear casting a shadow over our every action
so you take action to fight the shadows
hastening the sunset like foolish children
running as fast as they can to watch
the sun pouring down into the water
a flaming yolk cracking upon the surface
the glorious way to die when you were young
but now we know pain and love and hate
and we lose the will to oppose our fates
resigned to live for the material on our plates
all the while admiring the daring heroes
'cause at least they were suffering and better for it
they could so easily break us apart
but to break us would be to mend us again
and again we will stand before judgement
denying the false lenses placed before our eyes
accepting an eternal immortal truth of life given
that must be taken away when the adventure has been won
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 9:39 PM UTC
The sea is vast as the clouds are rolling
And in between is air.
They'll never touch, though never falter
And this just isn't fair:
The clouds and sea wish to meet, you see
But they can never be together
For powers that be keep sky from the sea;
They're only bound by weather.
When it rains, the clouds can touch the sea
Gently, caress in wave -
The clouds give all they have to her
But the sea, it must behave.
The sea is aware, that through the air
Is something she never can touch,
But when calm, she reflects the beauty of the clouds
And they smile when they see this much.
So resigned, the two stay far apart
And the clouds look longingly to sea
For they see the weather, reflection and more
That they know can never, ever be.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
Ripples running away from me
disturbing the cool water around.
My splash is heard by the trees and the birds
But by none who can offer help.
At first I panic, thrash madly,
as a thrush flutters on the breeze.
More waves are caused by the actions
But still I flap and scream.
Not a soul can hear me;
the woods are a wilderness, deserted.
Everything hidden by the low dense cloud,
It stops my sight short and muffles my voice.
So I wait drifting with the current
no longer reaching for a hold,
Confident I’ll be found and saved
Dried out and sent home happy.
The minutes soon become hours though
and still there is no help.
I give up counting depressing time.
I don’t want to know how long.
My skin starts to wrinkle with wetness
like a dried fruit in a plastic bag;
My nails soften in the water
But still trap **** and other life.
My faith in human nature
starts to fade and recede.
I try calling out once more
A strange fear forcing the action
I now grab, frantic, at anything in reach
Losing what little strength's left
And the weight of the water in my clothes
And body is dragging me down.
Finally I realise what’s happening to me
is I am sinking, drowning - and fast.
I am dying and there is nothing
I can do myself to stop it.
Inevitable, unpreventable death that I
now accept as being my destiny,
I close my eyes and try to help
By thinking heavy thoughts.
Running over in my head all the reasons
why it may be better this way -
As death is certain this is academic
But strangely seems to help.
If one can find the good in Death
it’s not so unattractive.
I no longer worry, I am resigned
It is my choice to die.
So I just lie back and wait for
embrace even my forthcoming Death
And then I hear a sound prayed for weeks ago
But dreaded and hated as I am now
Footsteps coming towards me that I try to ignore
(and ignore their voices too)
And a hand reaches for me, grasps mine
They think I should be happy to be saved
But they cannot see I don’t want to be saved
from the Death I was so close to and wanted.
I welcomed it, I willed it, to
Come and release me from the pain
Now I am safe I must endure once more
the suffering, and accept Death again.
So here I am alive and well
Trapped in the prison of life.
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 6:31 AM UTC
1340
A Rat surrendered here
A brief career of Cheer
And Fraud and Fear.
Of Ignominy’s due
Let all addicted to
Beware.
The most obliging Trap
Its tendency to snap
Cannot resist—
Temptation is the Friend
Repugnantly resigned
At last.
4.7k
For years, they stole and robbed from our pockets.
For years, they murdered what faith we had,
Killed what hope we gained for ourselves.
Poverty loomed over us like death, the
Loss of materialistic payment. Currency controls;
We have none.
Beginning with a silly addition to parchment and paper.
A "stamp act," if you will. Oh, the rarity of a few extra
Coins to spend on a cake for the mistress!
Rebellion and violence against the act increased,
The Sons, the ones of Liberty left
Blood splattered on the ground we walk on.
Fear installed in the hearts of agents,
Collecting and shivering as coins ring in their satchels.
Soon, though, they left. Resigned and replaced themselves with
Another thief.
The Townshend- adding cents more to imported,
Provided, goods. The people starved for things
They need and can not afford.
Naive. They had materials. They had the skill,
But no need to use what they contained in their minds
And their bodies.
Begin the new world! Spin your own yarn and twine!
Build your own shoes! You don't need the goods
From old English factories and makers.
The disagreements and retaliation, the lack in
Morality in the brainwashed heads of soldiers.
A bothered redcoat drew his gun, leaving holes,
Horrible voids.
The dive from cliff to cliff, swing from tree to tree,
The ****** of blood and
The determination to be freed from the grasp of
A controlling monarchy.
The greed they exhibit and the cruelty.
Revenge for taking what is ours?
Sweet tea, English tea,
Soaked in the harbor. The tax will be no more!
The need for peace, rejected by one
Who wanted control and a steady reign.
The isolation, suffocation of the new land like an
Abused child.
It was only a matter of time before the child ran away.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
There was a place.
There was a time …
There, I stood … still unknowing
and everything seemed fine.
But there in that place …
at that moment in time …
the moment I saw the eyes,
I'd never believed I'd find.
Well, what could I say?
What could I do?
In a world filled with billions …
and there … was a you.
I'd always known you were out there …
even written of something amiss.
I never, ever stopped looking for you …
because my heart always said that you exist.
My breezy Fall became harshest Winter.
My crazy life left my health running out.
I'd resigned myself that our moment had passed …
but this moment … it removed all doubt.
Well, what could I say?
Tell me, what could I do?
There we stood, staring … alone … in a city of millions …
yes, there … there was a you.
Oh, that mistress fate, she is just so cruel.
Frustration, a curse to be mine.
I'd searched for you my entire life …
but now … my clock … knows a limit of time.
You see, I would never venture a love with you,
while knowing I'd have to leave you … hurt and alone.
I could only admire from afar … stoic and aloof …
while turning my heart into stone.
Nothing I could ever say and nothing I could ever do …
But now, at long last … at least I finally knew.
There, you stood … green seas, gazing up … into skies of blue.
My long-awaited revelation … become sorrow-laced realization.
There really is … a you.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC
When I lost my marbles,
My dad would always say:
"Don't worry, you'll find them
When you just stop searching."
And it sounded stupid,
But every time I stopped,
Yeah, I found my marbles.
I grew up; my dad died,
Seasons changed, so did I,
But the rule stayed as true.
One day, I'd given up
On that romantic stuff,
And,
Resigned to die alone,
I walked into a big
Ol' Shakespeare conference,
To watch Othello die.
Well there, they were taking
"Volunteers" for Juliet,
"Lucky men" Romeos,
And I was one of them.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
Bugles sang, saddening the evening air,
And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear.
Voices of boys were by the river-side.
Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.
The shadow of the morrow weighed on men.
Voices of old despondency resigned,
Bowed by the shadow of the morrow, slept.
( ) dying tone
Of receding voices that will not return.
The wailing of the high far-travelling shells
And the deep cursing of the provoking ( )
The monstrous anger of our taciturn guns.
The majesty of the insults of their mouths.
4.1k
"Unsinkable"
was a myth;
which no-one ever said.
But she was beautiful,
the most advanced,
the biggest,
the "floating city",
the greatest ever made.
This magnificent vessel
which slipped out
from Harland and Wolff,
it cannot be denied,
was a fine symbol,
of hard work
and Irish pride.
****************************
That fateful night
truly was
a night to remember.
A night of heroes,
as men willingly
threw their lives away,
that women and children,
may live another day.
A night of heroines,
as women
gave up their lives
to stay with their men
as lovers and wives.
A night of honour
as Thomas Andrews,
whom Titanic designed,
and Captain Smith, stayed,
to their fates resigned.
A night of cowardice,
as J Bruce Ismay,
took a lifeboat place;
from a woman or child
stealing a space.
A night of tragedy
as more than 1500 died,
and of miracles,
that so many survived.
*******************************
One hundred years on.
RMS Titanic lies
broken on the sea bed.
At peace, in pieces,
she lies there
as broken as the dreams
of those who built her.
The survivors
who numbered 700 and more,
have now joined
all those who went before.
But Titanic,
gives new life today,
as she is being eaten away,
In bizarre irony,
this beautiful lady,
who caused death and strife,
is now teeming with life.
Microscopic life
feasting on this tomb
has sealed her doom;
as into the mighty hull they bore,
By 2030
Titanic will be no more.
Gone
but not forgotten,
neither Her or her victims;
that no-one can deny.
The great RMS Titanic
shall not
cannot
ever wholly die.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:05 PM UTC
My last long distance relationship was with YaHWeH
And we’re on break
But when I can’t help myself
I drunk text him
Thumbs fumbling like they’ve forgotten
Keys I used to know with eyes closed
“Why do you give me emotions
If they are only going to be doubted?
Invalidated continuously?
What would it be like to feel something
Without being punished?
Prayer emoji, prayer emoji,
Cry emoji, upside down smile.”
And when the emotional puking is done
And I’ve resigned myself to silence
And acid green Listerine
The universe chimes
“One new message.”
Taking a deep breath,
Pushing down apprehension
And the nauseous excitement
Of a boy texting back
Read.
“They are not always thus.
Each time someone was there
In your corner,
Maybe not the most voices
Maybe not the loudest
But there.
You are the master of your destiny, Love
The master of your punishment
You do not have to feel punished
You are rejoice made flesh.”
Peaceful smile, peaceful smile
Kiss emoji.”
I pause, reading it once,
Then twice,
Swallowing then nodding
Keys now vaguely familiar.
“Sometimes I forget.
Shy emoji, shrug emoji,
Monkey covering eyes.”
“God is typing……”
“That is what I’m here for.”
Kiss emoji, smile emoji
Blushing beaming smile.”
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
"love is a losing game", but for so long
i never understood that song, until,
i became a piece that you discarded,
left scorned and broken-hearted. it was
unbeknownst to me, but you knew exactly
how to maneuver your poison into my veins
and you made your home in my bones
without requesting my permission, having no intentions
of remaining any longer than your affections,
or your hands, could stand to stay in one place.
i've heard that love, is a losing hand,
and i imagine its partner, dry & cracked -
aching, reaching, grasping, empty -
desperately seeking to be filled with any kind
of warmth or wholeness, only to be met,
instead, by astounding disappointment
that reverberates and permeates unapologetically
beneath the surface of weathered skin,
similar to that which covered your back, as we laid
in the trunk of your station wagon in the mid-december darkness.
love is designed as a fate resigned,
but i knew not what my future held.
i did not know that it was possible, for
such a tangible pain to exist inside my ribcage,
but i swear you pretended not to hear my heart shatter
from all those miles and miles and miles away.
so i envisioned the oceans inside of your irises fading to gray,
and i forced myself to ignore the lack of air in my lungs,
as i spat out, "it's fine." promising myself i'd never call you again.
unbeknownst to you, you'd just taught me how to play the game.
- m.f
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 5:23 PM UTC
Crept in sinister and foreboding
Announcing their warnings in silent contrails of clotted red
Though the signs were not heeded
The impending extinction civilization was to face
From this reality humans turned their eyes away
The war was soon in coming
The blood parasites set their war machines humming
Singing songs of death and gold coins
Rubbing their hands with mad glee
As death profiteers cackled and rejoiced
Veiled widows sobbed quietly resigned and forlorn
Black strangling stench of rotting bodies and lies
The look of defeat in helpless glazed eyes
Tears running down accepting streaked faces
The sounds of fading souls and lost dreams
The screams of the dying lessened and eventually ceased
When Crimson skies in the morning
Crept in sinister and foreboding
All Rights Reserved@ Tammy M. Darby Nov. 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
Hunger and Desire grew
'til bellies everywhere were
ruined for sustenance,
so in went the troops to wage
war against ideas and
when they arrived there were no
soldiers to speak of
so they set up tents
and didn't go away
they sang drunken war-songs
until the moan of starvation bellies
sang louder and more terribly
"That must have been them
the whole time!" they said, and
suited up for the charge.
So they trained their shells at the city
excited to see if target practice
had done them any good
but all they did was mortar themselves to bits
squadrons of video-game experts
sent drones overhead to drop
Hallmark cards titled "Why it's your fault"
and coupon booklets for American
chain shopping outlets to come
but they only marginalized
and condescended themselves
"Bring in the reinforcements!"
they cried, even conscripting
their hapless targets. This mob,
too, was a hungry belly
bellowing for satisfaction,
a cannibal ***
simmering
So they set up tables and stacked
boring paperwork, filing away
spirits broken by shrapnel and white
phosphorus
but they only resigned themselves
to imaginary lines and the plunder
of Control, insensibly
****** themselves to death
while they watched,
perplexed.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC