Posts Tagged ‘death’

These steel wings under my direction,
This flying fortress,
Styled in camouflage sheen,
They once meant freedom to me,
Symbols of our fight against fascism,

But after that night,
That mission,

When I saw those fiery roses emerge,
Streets erupting in hellfire,
Becoming flowerbeds of sulphur and rubble,
I could almost hear screams over the turbines,
Hundreds of little ants amidst the blaze,

I felt that we became world-enders that night,
Warmongers rather than liberators,

We won that war,
But when those souls look up,
They will see us in the clouds,
And feel fear,
Not freedom.

Plated and iron-willed,
Zweihander in grip,
We are the first,
The forlorn hope,
The first of the army,
The first to charge,
The first to brave that barbed storm,
To climb those ladders,
To brave those battlements,
The first to kill,
The first to be slain,
We are the first,
The forlorn hope,
The first to die screaming,
The first to burn alive,
The first to be impaled,
The first to perish under arrows,
To be pierced,
To be slaughtered,
The first to be buried,
The first to be forgotten.

I crawl,
I crawl because death looms,
Tracer fireworks and smoothbore orchestra above,
The air is a Russian roulette of lead,
To stand vertical is to welcome the reapers round,
Razor wire as spectators,
Bullet casings as applause,

Knees and elbows,
Along this dank trench,
Each inch ahead is a marathon,
The mud cossets me as a reliable guardian,
Enveloping me as I crawl panicked,
My uniform once regal,
Is now a butchers apron,

Knees and elbows ragged,
Each pound of the earth shakes forth more debris,
Fellow conscripts lie about as charnel meat,
Carved by arms dealer produce,
This ditch has become the grave of many,
Its mud surely pining to consume me too,
As readily as any artillery,

Knees and elbows bloodied,
Exhaustion grips me,
I crash beside a shredded standard,
I did not choose this war,
Have no ability to quell its fury,
But now I lay amidst its masterpiece,
Etched in grunge and gore and steel.

The water knows,
It can taste my fear on the salty breeze,
It attacks the shore like a feral beast,
It lash’s at the shore in rancour,
Impotently contesting the land,
Taking chunks with it as prizes,
Time is on its side,
It breathes in,
Saving up for an almighty onslaught,
A tidal wave,
A titanic deluge of foul intent,
A watery mass of coral teeth and blades,
Overpowering the land with weight of fathoms,

They say that the sea is the bearer of life,
But it’s a resolute predator,
All it desires is to consume my flesh.

We are not dire wolves,
We do not run in packs,
We’re not predators,
We are wildebeest,
We run in herds,
We are fodder,
Fearful of the brush all around,
Unsafe in our carnivorous habitat,

And like wood lice,
We retreat to our homely crevices,
Unsafe in our forms of chitin,
At the whiff of any danger,
Scurrying away from the intrusive light,
Decrying the suns ambush,
To this world we are prey,
We are wildebeest and wood lice.

The Earth strives to heal,
From the corruption of warfare,
Still wounded decades later,
Still polluted by the arsenic of empires,

From the minds of old men,
Did these scars across the land come,
Painted by bone shards and blood of the young,
Spread by the quills of artillery and lead,

Many souls died here,
Laid to rest in craters,
Mother Nature lies beside them in solidarity,
Mourning for the industrial slaughter,

And the planet still weeps,
Those tears of acid rain,
She hates those old men,
And endeavours to right their wrongs.

What is left of a world,
Once all potential is wasted?
When no deified spirits are listening,
And even the ivory towers are vacant,
Just the muck,
The detritus,
The residue of hope,
No longer viable,
I see piles of it everywhere,
I swear even in the mirrors eye,
Wasted potential,
Grey and cracked in the sun,
Walking here and about,
Coughing and spluttering,
Debating and multiplying,

This mess,
This population,
It pretends to be concrete,
It feigns purpose,
When it is meant for naught but the drain.

I see you,
Supplicants and sycophants all,
Under those predatory spires,
Within ivory gothic monsters,
A church of destruction,

Did you know you stand on sacred land?
Not of the biblical kind,
But a boneyard,
As you kneel at your oaken pews,
You stand upon graves too,

This institution buried these bodies,
It ate them body and soul,
A temple of killers,
Justified by voices in your head and from the pulpit,
An ecclesiastical superiority complex,

You stand upon corpses,
You pray,
Looking up to ghosts of gods in the sky,
Prostrating yourselves to an absent father,
The rays in the clouds are just radiation,

Each skeleton is a sin,
Committed by the alleged unprofane.



As this days sun grows coral,
The sacrifice is brought up,
To the apex of this temple,
Our golden pyramid,
This one shall suffice,

The sacred hymns are recited,
Drawing the scrutiny of the gods,
My obsidian blade is held in thirsty readiness,
The time is upon us,
Two small eyes grimace up,

‘Tetatzin…?’

The blade falls,
The vessel is pierced,
The pantheons wine is spilled,
Painting the glimmer of this place,
My people ring out in hysteria,

We become phrenetic in holy awe,
Aloft a warm youthful heart is held,
Hesitating to still beat,
Huitzilopochtli drink deep,
And be praised by this act.

Our lives are Broadway shows,
A starring role for every soul,
Glamour and pomp to be sure,
But misery abound in equal measure,
Every continuance drawn to a genre,
Which demesne does your life fall?

Is it a Greek tragedy?
An overbearing tirade of unfortunate episodes,
Maybe your life is a thriller?
A slithering story with fangs of menace and twists of scale,
Perhaps a horror is more your style?
A tale of mundane cruelty and human monsters,

Could your life be a comedy?
Absurd scenarios and guffaws aplenty,
Or is it a feel-good story?
A silver spoon journey to a silver casket,
Could your life even be a romance?
A lifelong game of will they won’t they,

The possible genres we fall into are legion,
As numerous as the twinkles in our eyes,
Different experiences in both colour and tone,
The only similarity betwixt these archetypes,
You may already know it,
They all end the same.