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julius alcancia Feb 2014
this unfought war finally ends
tonight.

the madness, it has to stop
here around these unscathed
warriors.

six feet under, i see them from
where i am lying.
full of happy faces in a world dominated
by wasted chances, what might have
been questions.

along with queries that we never dared
to answer, chances we thought would
come again.

i know this is the end of me, of us.

flickering hope, regrets, a piece of me
to you.
i am ready to go, to let go.

this unfought war finally ends
tonight and i am free.
Georgia Jun 2012
Smoke and spirits to thaw my own
Damp from days of cyclical heights
Tripping over on sleep to singing whys
Come in, she beckons, to a brand new night

Of concern for battles unfought but lost
Of a drifting tyrant who appears but is not
What she seems, underneath, a scheming wreck
Of quick made decisions, less quick to check

That maybe, the vulnerable mind can harm
Others, far more vulnerable than mine
The time taken to choose may not always be
The time span on effects those choices do leave

I cry inside, giving you shallow hints
Of truths that valleys could not contain
Water rushes in fast, to fill the empty space
I gasp for air, and wait for the Day

But now all I wish for is spirits and smoke
You’ve weakened all my rip-roaring fight
To sink into laughter and throw away worry
The death, the disaster of a brand new night.
Amelia Jo Anne Jan 2014
I wish you believed these cracked bones, these arching tones, my so alones. I wish you saw my broken jaw, my tooth & claw, my obvious flaws. If you would listen to why I stay in bed, & to my cringe when the voices in my head sound, then I would tell you I am nothing, why I'm lost & not found. I would tell you that me, you'll never see, & I only live hypothetically. I am a ghost spirit, chained to this body, this ***** house all the girls frequent; they each claim the same identity & 'I' is a term they each invent. They speak in careful whispers & undo zippers & wonder why no one gives a ****. They thrive in sequinned moonlights, unfought bar fights, & ponder where the day went. When things get rough I float outside my head, sit in the air, see the scene unfold; you think you speak to me, but you can't hurt me when I'm above you, friend to ceiling mould. The girls are masters of identity theft, & 'me'? Ha! There's nothing left. They love to push me into a dream; from there they rampage merrily. I thought I'd **** them, but it seems I'm live ill-vibe & bare-ily.
http://imma-duck.deviantart.com/
I sink...


I sink...



I drown
The soft glisten of the moon
Reflecting off my drowning pool
Speaks for us both;
A reflection of a reflection
So beautifully distraught
In an identity crisis of the century--
The moon looks in the mirror
And only sees the sun,
She has lost all dignity
That she kept so dear.
The ripples of my love and I
Slipping into the sea are no differnt.
She looks into me and sees me drown
And feels no differnt than I.
Tears stream down the face of the moon
And the rain trickles onto the sea.
Our bubbles are the memories
Slowly drifting from the mouth
Slipping away to the surface.
My love swims to the top to breath
Yet I am here, sitting at the bottom
Of the great blue sea,
Breathless from her sight,
Forged together by unfought tears
And the pressure of its depth.
I watch as you swim to the moon
And bathe in her forlorne light
Breathing, time and time again.
For I will watch all night long
And then go to sleep in the morn.
MV Blake Apr 2015
A whisper in the woods
Spins our heads in a vortex
Of fear and wonder
As our courage is vexed.
A dream of a future
Shapes our thoughts
With expectations
Of a life unfought.
A shiver of discomfort
Down our spine
As we meet the one.
It must be a sign.
A whisper is wind in the leaves,
A tumult of fear not to be believed.
Dreams are just that,
And our future needs work
So pull up your sleeves.
That shiver you felt
Was the cold, not the deed,
And if he was the one,
Then what about me?
Grow up from your dreams;
They aren’t what they seem.
Daniel Ospina Aug 2015
Sound the trumpet; ring the bell.
I must come out of this crystal shell.
My thoughts revolve around myself.
Save me; I’m nailed to my bookshelf.

I’m immersed in the world I created:
Ideal, just, and outdated.
Disillusioned by bleak realities,
I prefer to dwell in my own fantasies.

You say I squander my time?
That I will leave no legacy behind?
Well I say it’s not worth it,
Even if assured a golden casket.

Why bother hollering at the deaf?
Why bother waste by breath,
When I’m an insignificant speck,
Who happens to be a total wreck?

My voice is hoarse, almost mute.
Why insist to prolong my pursuit
To speak for the voiceless,
To be a martyr, a putrid carcass?

But my spirit shouts and rattles
To fight all the unfought battles.
If no one speaks, who will?
I’ll just be like those who ****.

Sound the trumpet; ring the bell.
I must come out of this crystal shell.
Harmony Sapphire Jan 2015
Enter at your own risk.
Into an unknown abyss.
Seduction of the sun kiss.
An ungranted wish.
Fate with a twist.
Darkness shadows, echos fades.
You I want to follow.
A choice I made.
A occupy my time.
Gather my thoughts.
Be greatful for what's mine.
Reflect on what I bought.
Music draws me in to bind unfought through each chime.
Coldness clings to the voice that sings.
Fear & haunting is not what it brings.
Intriguing & capitvating trapped in a hypnotic trance.
Irresistable & unescapeable ****** in.
In a personal bubble. I fall & tumble.
A uncontrollable cycle.
I trip & stumble. Without bearing or direction.
I chose a path with further neglection.
Without a guide.
My heart openwide.
My uncertainity subsides.
Through the foggy light I glide.
Parallal to default to seek what I sought.
Senseless relent it was there I was sent.
Calling me to it.
Fragmented bit by bit. Reforming a whole to the other side. Teleported through a watery tide. Plasma fluid like sewage.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved
TSK Mar 2017
Sitting in our heart of hearts
a kindled pile awaits,
hoping for that tiny spark
that will awake its fate.
Soon to be an ember,
smoldering away,
if we allow that light to catch
and let it have its say.
Flickering to life it comes
once the fire has caught
and nothing can deter its path
with no battle left unfought.
Be wary of this fragile fire
lest it becomes a blaze
and unleash a force so very great
it consumes your ways.
For inside each of us can burn a passion
so pure, wild, untamed,
beware for it’s your only chance
to douse an eternal flame.
Seema Jun 2017
Losing an unfought battle
That seemed more like a dream
With words to belittle
And silent tears of scream

Rising again to confront
To that of anothers fate
But rumors began its hunt
And I was labelled as hate

Closed eyes to erase the scenes
That I know, doesn't exists
Yet my mind gradually spins
As I am walking through a mist

Confused and tired of life to live
I am who, people have kicked
All in all, I stood up to give
The fallen advices that I picked

How unbelievable people get
What they say, is only for a show
They spin their words and set a trap
Push you down, and hang you below

I've been there, and laughed at
Much humiliated by my own
Until I walked away and met
My true self, an unknown...


©sim
Gabriel Bonney Sep 2019
Montauk
What a shock
Things unfought
Stories not sought
Maybe another plot?
From what I got?
Will I thought?
A different shot?
Will I be caught?
Who cares, it’s not
Their slot
It’s not locked
So I trot
What if they bought
Or if it’s snot
And if they choose cots
Anyways,
I like the name Montauk
Just a little quick side project

Did you know Stranger Things’ conspiracies around Hawkins are actually based off of conspiracies around the real town Montauk. Such a cool name. But they didn’t use that location, because it’s “Amity Island” in Jaws, and it would be too familiar. Anyways, it would be a cool idea to make a show called Montauk, because it’s such a cool name I think. My idea—you can’t have it!!

Eh, I probably won’t make it into anything. But if you can, go ahead!
Jamie Riley May 2020
Stuck
Fraught
Distraught
by thoughts:
echoes of intentions unfought.
Stalled by feelings unseen.
Stoppable without skills or a team.
Where's my tribe where my body can breathe?
Where's my test where my body can heave
all the weight of the world for a time and seize
a moment alive to lift the seas
and blind the sun with ecstasy.
ConnectHook Apr 2023
Thou Ethiopian muse of mine: attend.
Now let my words wound souls and after, mend.
It’s time to slay some golden calves and knock
Some gods from off their pedestals. Let’s rock.
(I’d like my veal in gold-dust, with a side
Of injured Afrocentric racial pride.
)

Moses cut an oppressor down, who bled…
Moses buried him in the sand, then fled.
(Every ****** son of Adam bleeds out red.)
Midian offered shelter to the killer.
I hope you like my prefatory filler . . .

Remember in the desert how the tribes
Put up with Moses’ scolding diatribes,
Yet quickly fell for Aaron’s baby bull?
They paid for it, the half and then in full
By wandering around for forty years
And drinking bitter waters (Moses’ tears).
They even whined about his sultry bride;
Not Zipporah—his later, darker ride.
Let Ethiopia rise. She still is blameless
And Moses’ second wife here lauded nameless.

Discerning Israel means: there once were slaves.
Egyptians know the God of Hebrews saves.
Yehudah is no more the chosen clan
Than Joseph is old Pharaoh’s right-hand man.
And who is freed from *******, and who’s not
Should make us pause—observe . . . then think a lot.

Some tribes are pale-faced, others darker still.
And none can claim to grasp God’s perfect will.
Let **** haters rise—and leave the room.
Black racists too, be gone; and I’ll resume
My question: who’s oppressed, and who’s a grifter . . .
And how a curse descends, and what’s the lifter.
Perhaps you are a Hebrew . . . yet, some curse
Is evident in how you make things worse
By raging over long-past wrongs and rights
(Passive-aggressive lovers’ quarrel with whites…)
While Indo-Europeans watch the fun,
All Asia sighs, and prays God’s will be done.

Noah’s second grandson, Canaanite cow,
Oh golden calf, toward whom we’re forced to bow,
You sure can DANCE, and jump, and chant bad rhymes,
Cashing that blank check for slavery’s crimes.
The state commemorates your orator;
Content of character must come later (?)
You crack us up. Pure abomination
Promoted as artistic creation.
Your tag, your name—like ***** sprayed on walls.
Your neighborhood? Wherever garbage falls.
You’re born in freedom. Now you sample beats
Enslaved to violent nonsense in the streets.
That silly slang, new sneakers, dumb fashions
Showcase well your underlying passions.
Egypt’s kings? More like bad dangerous clowns
Revealing thuggish souls in sullen frowns;
Slurring unintelligibly your words
Which leave your lips like Lucifer’s own turds.
You’re laughable in your provocation;
Begging us to adulate your nation.
We must (MUST we?) celebrate your culture
And venerate what spawns from sinful nature.

You say you have it bad, you’re still enchained;
The Civil War unfought and and nothing gained . . .
You claim to be oppressed this day and age?
It seems you’re just excusing childish rage.
Go liberate yourself then, loudmouth slave.
Prove to the world that JESUS cannot SAVE.

Victims exist, others play the Race Card,
And seek a foe to blame when life gets hard.
Or worse: demand race-based reparations
Lining bank accounts with their frustrations.
Such money has been ransomed, in the form
Of public schools and welfare. Bring your storm
Of virtue-signal cries that I’m a bigot;
But spades will be called in spades—so DIG it:
Hope you can keep those Liberals on your side,
To con them as you take them for a ride.
Don’t compromise their cluelessness. Stay woke
To keep us laughing at your ethnic joke:
Ratcheting up the destructive drama.
Hate this whiteness? My reply: Yo’ mama.
For any son can knock up any daughter
Regardless of the racial myths they taught her;
We are one species. Sorry, but it’s true.
(Wish it were not, observing some of you…)

Muse of mine, Kushitic damsel, don’t leave.
You’ve heard me out thus far. I still believe
That there’s a remnant of Man’s fallen race
Who yet can be restored by God’s own grace
Regardless of their smarts, or style, or hue.
Fear GOD and live . . . for such were some of you.
inked solace Jan 2021
Her eyes held all the stars of the sky
And her smile held the warmth of the sun
The wrinkles in her eyes held wisdom
But her complexion showed all the battles she had won

For before a diamond is a crystal
It is refined and purified through heat
Before a maiden can be rescued from her tower
There is a dragon the knight must defeat

There is no victory without a battle
And there is no glory in an unfought war
Without struggle, there can be no resilience
You can't know peace until you’ve experienced the gore
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2018
It was Hemingway
  early

And Dickinson
   late

Those early
  exposures

The trail of
  my wake

No bar left
  unvisited

Or brawl left
  unfought

No school that could
   answer

Dialectic
  corrupt

Now this corner
  I sit in

Both welcomes
  and warms

And the thoughts
  it retriggers

No movement
  just form

I once had
  looked over

What I now look
  within

From this chair
  that I captain

Where in virtue
  —I sin

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2019
It was Hemingway
  early

And Dickinson
   late

Those early
  exposures

The trail of
  my wake

No bar left
  unvisited

Or brawl left
  unfought

No school that could
   answer

Dialectic
  untaught

Now this corner
  I sit in

Both welcomes
  and warms

And the thoughts
  it retriggers

No movement
  just form

I once had
  looked over

What I now look
  within

From this chair
  that I captain

Where in virtue
  —I sin

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Jimmy silker Nov 28
My grandad on my mothers side
Was an idiosyncratic cat
Obsessed with engineering
Draughtsmanship and that

Recorded and catalogued
Big bands on a reel to reel
Oft silent in a low mood
You never knew the way he'd feel

But at Chrimbo came his home brew wine
and after a glass or two
He'd start to act all silly
Mug for the camera
Then the night was through

He had a turn of phrase
Long outmoded in the seventies
To the point of incomprehension
To the children of his latter days

If you asked what he was doing
He'd say I'm just scratching out my Ditty box
An invite to absurdism?
Or another life he'd half forgot?

I think he missed the war
And the certainty
It brought
As he poured over his old blueprints
The battles still unfought

— The End —