"timelike" poems
Timelike and the decaying bodies piled high cease to amuse the vultures now
Single shots give the rebels confidence
They attack in force
Heavy machine gun fire from the west toss bodies into the air like ragdolls
Textbook
Vultures tearing at eyes of the dead and dying
Bullets to precious for mercy
The night brings natures other cleaners
Muffled screams heighten the reactions as night vision survey death in technicolor
The ponderous wait continues
Stroking metal like some *** provoking act
Followed only by counting lives little savers, bullets of love
The vultures dance impatiently
The stroking intensifies
Hairs stand ***** as movement waves majestically towards its final objective
A sudden calm unfolds
Nature watches in awe as love is unleashed in her garden for the final time
The call to bayonets now, takes man down to his lowest form of savagery
Eyes now meet, screaming death the ferocious last act of men past the point of madness
Blood flows as metal slice through skin and bone, swaying death the final frenzy as screams die the days end
Men cry as they survey the last atrocity of human barbarity
Battle ended, vultures marvel feasting on the final meal
Battle hardened men massacre memories leaving Celebrations a distant Country as blood red hands refuse to wash
They would never return.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
A newborn, awaiting, decrepit, and rotting,
His mother waits for him to stir,
Her eyes emotionless and defensive,
Her dismal namesake will not return.
-
She gazes at his chest, hoping that his breast
Would return to a timelike rythm,
Alas, he is dead, putrified in his bed,
Arms outstretched to a broken woman.
She quietly gasps and inhales sobs,
While her tiny one stares at nothing,
Exhuming her fear of each and every tear,
She desperately clings on to something.
-
She could not stop this folly,
This tragedy entombed in holly.
The umbilical noose, too tight
She held on too strong,
He tried to fight along,
Unknowingly suffocating in her embrace, slight.
After his movement was stifled,
She peered over to the rifle,
That sat to protect the two of them,
She thought and was consumed,
With visions of Hell, and torture too,
She chanced it with an undying stem.
-
To paint a scene in words,
To describe the horror heard,
By no one when no one was there…
What is the magnitude of ******
What lines are crossed to massacre?
And foretelling the wise ones fair.
-
In the end she sat in a rocking-bend,
The chair that carried him off to sleep,
He now lay in his cradle with sodden eyes,
Weary of counting so many sheep.
She had the sawn-off in her right hand,
The wall behind her, a portrait of her brains,
Half her face bereft of her body,
The white walls now hold crimson stains.
The infant’s hand lay through the gate,
As if even in death telling his mother “don’t do it”
The insignificant ominous one
Had lead her then right to it.
Her mouth agape, and jaw five feet from her,
Her right eye rolled back in the skull,
The blue baby seemed to look on in dead horror,
As his body witnessed in full.
The shotgun blast so strong and centered,
The power rocked her chair back and forth,
This creaking moan was all to be heard,
In this silent room forevermore.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
Closed
timelike curves
I need you
now more than ever
unfortunately
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 8:29 AM UTC