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My mother’s calling Sullen, she reflects Upon her child’s cries Far, and fading fast Steady I arise As warfare, roves and lies She’s shouting over the guns “Have mercy, my son” “Have mercy, my son”
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Their exhausts are like a thousand white crosses Taking off into the fray On the ever-maddening wisps of mankind They dissipate so swift So faint and so soft All to offload the fires of hell On our greatest of foes But they’ll return in earnest On the wings of revenge As a shrill battle cry…
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There’s a cold rain, crashing through my mind And the gutters overflow Streaming, Through the grieving afternoon Thick roving clouds All loom, like vicious battles, Battering due east Like the rolling ire of the blitz I’ll collapse from the weight of the storm Into pastures of ruin Sopping, in the wind and rain Imprisoned, By…
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I am brought to empathy Down a starlit road Through a forest of woes On a stranger’s trail Of snarling demons and snares Where a truth, surely lives unbeaten Where the nights are colossal and dense And the starlit guides of the trail Are extinguished and lost until dawn There’s a kindred hope On this…
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Am I but a pawn In this tragic ruse of words Shed to no avail? Into endless rivers, that rush and ramble To dust and despair
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A man is sent miles away From his innocent fears As the barrel of a rifle, prods him along Out of reach are the remnants of life That carry on in spite of him Beautifully and brave Then the black wings of death Beat a western path Scattering, his world among dust His triumphs, tribulations…
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A war still hangs in their throats And every word is a struggle Cursed, with hate and hellfire The nights still tremble then erupt With broad arcs of red Stalking, across the dark skies Still among them Are the whistling shards That cleave and butcher And rain in hot torrents Until morning reveals The craters…
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Through the same fogged window panes Of the night before The Sunday morn, is the all-seeing judge The day is revered and empty A lost fertile land Amid endless, dust and decay Seldom I depart, From my fogged frame of mind So I backstroke in the haze Of these heavenly hours Humbled, The whole way…
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Today, life is hardly inching along There’s an absence of worry Of urgency’s, boasting war cry Leveled, by a wisp of euphoria Stillness is rising As idle time floats by, serene I struggle to lift, these dull arms and legs And why bother? When the shades and the ballads of spring Have borne a new…
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I’m the fawn, in the sights of hunters Stalked and scorned by their rounds That crack and wheeze overhead, They will find their mark Before I’ve grown old with fear
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