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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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I’m miles away in this hazy tempest of thoughts Surrendering daydreams To be swallowed by the rush Paris, Nairobi, Belfast Are but faded phenomena That echo, in the fury until lost Friends, foe and family alike Are inwoven inside of its greed Then scattered out of reach I’m miles away On a dead-end trail, Beaten…
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Originally posted on Raja's Insight: Baby Boy ? I thought those were tears When he brought you to me, Your cries sounded faint As I passed out again. ? Oh, sweet baby boy We waited all night, My pain from induction You were quite the sight. ? You burst in the heat On that summer…
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Originally posted on 17Numa: Something Shifting in the Sky Another poet with a bled and broken heart – oh, gag me with both of your silver spoons Another poet with a jealous ego – hell, I thought art was designed to be more creative by half Another poet with a grudge to…
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Originally posted on 17Numa: Funny How It Goes Sometimes Considering how everything was wrong when our ship went down, the situation could not have ended up any better. Insert your next parable here while I keep busy never figuring out this paradox called… Shift so subtly with the spin; cycle when the…
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