Poetry-Thing Thursday: Lean Upon the Wicked

Lean upon the wicked.
Trod upon the lame.
Chase them through the thicket.
Hang them without name.
If judgment comes to call,
say it was a game.

This is the creed of a motherless breed.
This is the soul-darkened human seed.
This is the eyrie of an immoral steed,
pregnant upon invirtuous deed.

Death is on your ticket.
Freedom’s in your name.
Never can be resown.
We fight but not in vain.
Eyes and minds alight.
And burning as one flame.

This is the song, of a petulant need.
This is the cry, that we cannot concede.
This is a wound, borne of gluttonous greed,
bending like, unbroken reed.

Cry of the fallen.
Breath of the flame.
Forget the calling.
Strike without shame.
For when at last,
the flotsam’s gone to claim,
and tidal waves roll,
cling to the innocents
and not your goal.

This is the sigh of the chaos gone by,
This is the reel of impossible cry.
This is the sound of the freewheel afly,
remembered long past the day that we die.

Advertisements

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Fertile Mind, Poor Design

A fertile mind,
in poor design,
is an ancient puzzle,
a riddle, divine,
called forth from,
the annals of time.

What greatness hath,
madness wrought,
when disguised as sanity,
a need, less fraught?
If only pain and trauma
were retroactively fought.

Were history’s madness,
to be erased,
we’d know of man’s impotence,
his potential for grace,
whether in the midst of Earth,
or the boundlessness of Space.

Flee not from madness,
nor take it with fear.
Examine it closely.
Examine it here;
on pages of ink and paper,
on the faces of those standing near.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Take My Hand

Take my hand.
Walk with me.
We’ll follow the sunset,
all the way to the sea.

And there we will sit,
and long reminisce,
about lovers and lives long-passed,
and the hope of future-bliss.

So when next the sun rises,
and you and I part,
we leave without sorrow,
however heavier of heart.

Because choices are infinite,
but decisions too few,
perhaps for us both,
it’ll be “if only you knew.”

But I do know one thing,
this I can’t deny,
that in my heart I’ll keep you,
if the stars I must defy.

And through ages to come,
and those that have passed,
I’ll know I’m not the only one,
with such feelings that last.

That is, only if,
you take my hand,
and hold it with yours,
so together we stand.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Fill

Fill,
the void in,
yourself.
The world,
your heart,
their minds,
then turn away.

Fill,
the widening hole,
in your soul,
in the world’s heart,
in a lost art,
in a broken home,
then turn away.

Fill,
the silence in,
or violence wins,
and finds within,
your healing words,
to add in verbs,
so you might turn away.

Whether to the top,
or the the half-way mark,
just fill the world,
with all good things–
love and compassion,
and other such things.

For freedom’s not free,
it is won through sacrifice,
and the loving passion,
of the courageous and brave,
for their loved ones to save.

So just fill up the world,
so we can go on,
us along with it,
radiate like the sun.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: The All Knowing

Sex and sweat;
the stench of love,
the price of life,
and human progress.

Were it not for these,
we would not exist.
Trust in evolution,
and adaptation to hone our wits.

What do we get in return?
Silk skin, blonde hair,
colored eyes, warm thighs,
supple curves, hard angles.

Were it not for sex,
and love at that,
we would know no beauty,
nor grief or pain.

Think of this,
the next time you scheme:
whether man and woman,
man and man,
or woman and woman,
it’s all obscene.

But that’s the point.
It’s as it should be.
Love is love.

Hot, wet, reeking of shame–
or cold, fast,
naked, unclean.

But it keeps the world turning
The species going.
It is the beginning, the end,
and the all knowing.