I The stormy sea
c of mankind does
a drown in its own
n vomitous wretch
pony The mother screams
Metal to metal as bolts ac at child unhearing
clashing arms of ross the plain echoing her own
fire shake the as tongues of fire mother’s words.
molten earth. shred the sky, rending The innocence
Armored saints sinew, bone, and flesh in of children
salute bloody conglomerate heaps of oftimes angers
swords, dipped steamy carnage through patient adults
in phosphorus clouds of translucent engaged in
laden gore. Souls lights, shining meekly. petty squabbles
are banished from Murderous over forgotten
mortal lands proud peals split youth. Jealous
of their chivalrous pious glass are the mature
deeds. Mountains in holy altars of the mind
peer out into the to righteous of a young child.
sea, giving light men of old The man walks
to games of death. seeing, making screaming out,
All are pawns in games of kings, erasing expendible expinditures. All hail the king.
Amen say the soothsaying seers to comfort anger and cushion their necks. Secret
daggers plot evil plots hatched from secret minds. Through the eyes of dragons see
the murky pitch of wretched hearts. Mangled children scream in pain as the king
passes on stallion white. Trodding none too softly on pigeon toes, he laughs and
gives them pennies. Yet far away the young boys learn their games of war, thinking
it but a game. A few years more and they will learn of blood and pain, to give and
to receive. Horses scream and men cry out in defense of the olden edifice. Oily
scum streams from heated cauldron dumped on children freed. Pure breeds gallop
with bloodied hooves as gallant men wipe gore encrusted swords. The battle is over,
the victory won. But where is the pony, with child afoot, singing innocent songs
of youth? Look yonder in pasture, scorched grass abounds through hollow and fen,
through marsh and wood deep and thick. But search for youth in tulgy forest and
you may find it, if you dare. They run in field and plain, in wheat browned by sunlit
sky. Through them on mountains, they scream their threats and promises. Hills and
vales offer their voices to create panic stricken cities and towns of bourgeois comfort,
docily living in mayo houses and huts below a lonely castle. Thus sayeth the Lord.
Alicat the Persnikitty
As I sit here dimly thinking
Watching modem lights a-blinking
Churning out poetic hash.
Lord, in all Your piety,
Help me keep my sanity:
Please don't let the modem crash! --Alicat
- All Rights Reserved
Wow! A truly powerful read Alicat ... the imagery in this is incredible! Really well done!
Grinning, I remember this---the poem, I mean...but this would be the first poem I see after grappling with computeritis all night...I vote...definitely...sigh...and now I've been reduced to "calgon" taking me away...LOL
Very clever!! Don't know how you do it.
Member Rara Avis
Okay, where do I get some of THOSE drugs?
Member Rara Avis
I remember this! Love it still m'friend!
Up the battlements you go!