War

On green fields painted red, I meet you.
You are enemy of my people, my ideals, and my wellbeing.
We cross paths and cross swords.
Neither yields, neither falls.
The bodies of our brothers and sisters lay still around us in numbers too great to measure.
Who they are, who they were,
Friend, or foe…
It is impossible to know.

The faces of the dead blur together,
Erasing the stark lines that once separated them.
Now they are forever joined together in slumber eternal.
Yet we fight on.

Battered and bruised,
We are unaware of the time, and our pain.
The urge to kill what lies before our eyes consumes and overwhelms.

What we fight for means nothing.
What we seek to protect means nothing.
Only to see the other dead,
This is what we fight for,
This is why we stubbornly refuse to make amends.

What began as a clash of minds,
Soon turned to shouting,
And finally all out war.

From civilized men to the savage beasts the gods abhor.
What have we become?
What have we made?

Weariness finds us.
Blades fall, but fists still fly.
Blood hides our faces,
And blinds us to one another.
Yet the hatred guides.

Glancing strikes, and strikes returned.
A scene beyond tragedy, beyond forgiveness.
But onward we struggle,
For the other’s elusive demise we so bitterly yearned.

Night falls as do we.
A heap among our comrades and adversaries alike
Too weak to breathe, yet too tired to die,
There we lie in the mound of our sins.
When the moon shines, a gasp marks final breath.
Then we too are touched by death.

All for naught, there is nothing gained.
No reward for our beaten bodies strained.
We perish, not as heroes, but as fools.
To go so far for mere pebbles in a world of mountains.
To you, my enemy, our mistake is done.

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The Revenant

It comes, and it goes.
It haunts me, and it knows.
Sneering, grinning at the agony of my defeats
It torments me, despite seeing that I’m weak.

From the countless visits,
I find its face etched into my mind,
Burned into my soul,
And imprinted on my heart.
Crooked, but blank.
Sinister in its idea, but blind I am to its truth.
It is wicked in every sense.
Black as the night,
Uncaring as the cold,
As mean as the sun,
And as frightening as death.

My body freezes up with every breath.
The chest tightens, constricts, compress.
Color fades, light leaves, and the grip consumes.
Taking me down to with the unbearable pressure.
The suffocating depths are impotent when stood aside this ghastly nightmare.
Its commands ring loud, leaving me stripped bare.

To drown tis but a luxury fate deems unfit to bestow upon me.

Uncomfortable in my own skin.
As its wretched figure hides itself within.
Reflections show only its cursed face,
And every night there is only its embrace.

Unfamiliar in my own home, my own world.
Stranger to me and to all.
The antithesis I feel I’ve become.
Twisted, warped, distorted by the ceaseless suffering.
Crippled, deprived, deranged from the sleeplessness.
Broken, forgotten, empty with the heartache.
Weakened, wounded, lost.

It creeps up and creeps in, like a parasite with an insatiable appetite.
The thorns and bramble-like hands grips what it can, and refuses release.
A bondage unlike any other.

Yet from its feeding, it finds no delight.
It is simply there to hurt and to maim.
To strike down, and keep down.
To undermine and to overtake.

Its name, and its purpose are lost and unknown.
Its origins, and its desires are mysterious and untold.
Its strength, and its influence are undeniable and boundless.
I bow to its wrath, or it makes me kneel.

Foul beast, the abysmal creature that plagues me.
I’ve grown fond of its presence,
Almost soothed by its haunting figure.
Like friends we are, it and I.
Even though as mostly dead I lie.

Shadows of Tartarus

Great maw of ever-spewing blackness,
That which weighs heavily on my mind,
Countless barbed tendrils that ensnare mine soul–
A rose who’s thorns that held my heart Fixed ever in painful bind.
Great beast face me now!
Even now as my courage wanes,
Even now as my knees shake,
And hands tremble as the Earth under the march of Titans.
My spirit will know not rest until you are slain,
And cursed to wallow evermore in the Shadows of Tartarus.

Wicked creature who’s forceful roar would make a soft gust of world-rending storms,
That which tosses my insides like useless trinkets.
Endless rows of teeth gnawing down on my hind side –
a pit to hold even the giants of giants captive,
Trapped ever in hopeless misery.
Great beast come to me!
Even now as my sword arm falls,
Even now as my heart jumps apace,
And the salt of mine eyes floods the Earth!
Great beast look upon me!
Know mine anger!
My being rests not until you know pain!
Wicked cur, don thine leash and grovel evermore in the Shadows of Tartarus!

Repent, Repay, Reform

Regime’s ripples ripping rapidly. 

Roaring, ravaging, raging reaper. 

Realize relentlessness, recklessness. restlessness.  

Rancorous, resentful, ruthless rending results. 

Retreat. 

Remember, resistance razes, reduces, ruins. 

Run, recoil, reconsider. 

Reject revolution.

Revoke retribution. 

Regret rebellion.

Return restraint, restriction, repression. 

Rely, require, request reapplied regulations. 

Reacquire rightful righteous rule. 

Repent, repay, reform.

Chaotic

I am the chaotic,

Wild and temperamental.

The unchecked, and untamed thing that I am does what it wants and lives on its own terms.

No laws, no rules, just me and my own boundaries.

I am the chaotic.

Unrestrained, and outspoken.

The free and unpredictable thing that I am is beyond reason and comprehension.

I simply am, and simply do.

Whatever the feeling, whatever the mood, anything can happen, and anything I’ll do.

I am the chaotic.

Like a storm, I come and I go.

Throwing all in my path across creation with arms like wind.

Roaring, shouting, screaming with a voice that strikes like lightning, and booms like thunder.

I AM THE CHAOTIC!

The unscripted, ever-changing thing that I am.

Dear You

Dear You,

I write from my heart. Deep down I hope my words reach you beyond the scattered pieces, beyond the memory torn apart. I bear you no ill will, but I am distraught. I was accustomed to a certain way of living. I was both settled and secure, only for it all to be upturned in a moment, and without a chance to catch my breath. I believed in infinity, even used to dream; perfection was a reality, or so I thought.

The naive, uneducated, unintelligent being that I once was has now been made clear. I was fooled by my own comfort. Again, I bear you no ill will, but what am I to think, what am I to feel? When left like a gutted swine, or a fish thrust upon the lands to gasp and flounder, there is only the struggle and the pain as the body tries to regain what it once lost. The heart and the mind do the same. And here I am, writing all these words in vain. I don’t mean to bear you ill will, but You, sweet Dear You, I am upset. I am bothered that there is no pause, no lost speech, no sign of regret. To simply take, and have your fill. Like a thief you’ve become, and it is from me that you decided to steal.

Dear You, I mean no harm even though my bitter words have lost their charm. I am merely expressing myself, not to You, but to me. Oh how I love the taste of the echoed resentment and venting the non-hatred that’s lingering. Would you happen to not find that just sickening? Believe me, there is not an instant where my stomach does not churn, or the very core of my soul does not burn with all its rage. Oh dear, Dear You, I hope you see the wicked creature that bears your name, and know that it is yours. It will live and grow, with or without you. Standing, breathing, and developing as the reflection of your likeness that it is. I will care for it, foster it, and nurture it in all the ways I know you never will.

My Dearest You, I do not mean Ill.

Spotlight

Spotlight upon me, shining evermore.
It is bright, warm, and awe inspiring.
But despite its glow, I shine brighter.
I am the star, the focus, center of attention.
The stage is the world, and the world is mine.
It is here where I give my greatest performance and steal the show.
I am neither arrogant, nor prideful,
But glory unto my act, and unto to me as I perform.
I perfectly maintain the facade.

I finish, but there is no applause.
No standing ovation, no congratulations, no simple gratitude.
Disturbed, but unshaken.
I have been taught and trained to maintain composure at all times.
I take my bow, but not of my own will.
I am forced down by the weight of insecurity.
The silence is sickening, disheartening, debilitating.
The spotlight remains, and I wallow in hidden agony.

Spotlight upon me, and its exaggeration of my weaknesses.
It is now the glaring microscope harshly trained on my inadequacies.
I am small, an ant under its influence, belittled by it’s taunting gleam.
Left open, and made aware of my vulnerability.
I am naked, stripped down to my most basic self.
From uplifting to scrutinizing at a moment’s notice.
What is left will make my final show,
My last appeal bask in the light,
And receive its love.
But there is none.

Spotlight fades, and darkness rules.
Thoroughly robbed of all I had.
Yet the grasp of the abyss is fleeting.
The blackness lifts as the theater lights fall.
Illumination brings clarity.
With enlightenment I can see the faces.
Everyone in the crowd is the same,
A homogeny of non-existent expression.
Blank canvases all around.
Nothing moved, nothing there.
What was once mine, now belongs to us all.
But only I know what was lost.
The isolating spotlight has lifted,
And this new light is now shared,
But I am still alone in this empty theater.