Posts Tagged ‘human nature’

I was conscripted,
Forced into these daylight trenches,
By a dice roll,
Snake eyes,
Fighting tooth and nail every year,
Each turn of the sun another foe beaten,
Another hill won with blood,
My standard grows ever more grey,
A tired old veteran in the works,
And once the war is finally over,
I shall take the skeletal hand of the dark,
Like an old comrade,
And finally rest in calm halls.

Monsters are real,
Oh yes indeed,
They walk every street,
Every boulevard,
They hide in plain sight,
They are you and me,
I hear hissing and slavering,
In my ears and on radio waves,
Bound to criminal urges,
Committing crimes to live,
Monsters in all but name,

Stabbing you in the back,
Just for a crumb of feed,
Throttling you pale,
For the pure thrill of it,
Clubbing your skull,
For the loose change in your pocket,
Burning you to sorry ashes,
For they covet the heart you love,
Monsters are very real,
And it’s true what they say,
The worst monsters are human.

There were times,
Even in the darkest caves of my depression,
That I was most at rest,
Most sedate,
Most in tranquillity,
Almost cocooned,
Within an ice bath of sterile numbness,

Once the tears have dried,
And the throat is already sore,
Then comes the numbness,
Calming yet terrible,
Sat on that lonesome bench,
With only my tired thoughts,
And the grey carpets of leaves,

But in truth,
The solitude is addictive,
The silence is the finest symphony,
A melody of soothing needles,
A drug my weary mind savours,
It’s dangerous in all honesty,
You almost don’t want to get better.

A smash,
A glass siren into the night,
The reposed hovel is breached,
Something has slivered in through the chasm,
Something in a balaclava,
A knitted visage of ill intent,

The dark shape haunts the sleeping home,
Possessed of a crowbar conviction,
Studious in its search for pearls and trinkets,
Trespasser tentacles in every nook,
This monster is out of its habitat,
Timidly whispering in tongues,

You deign to catch it red-handed,
A monster hunter in your pyjamas,
A strike is readied,
This is no creature,
Within that woollen mask is a man,
Cold eyes full of panic,

Blue eyes of a desperate man.

There was a young woman,
Red hair and a love of photos,
A young woman not quite right inside,
Led astray through foul circumstance,
Wallace was a bad guy,
Rifles for birthday gifts,
A hint from a sire in some lights,
She didn’t like Mondays,

Some new friends outside,
Not that they know it yet,
So load the cartridges,
Some Ruger fireworks to perk up the day,
Light up some innocent bodies,
Some school uniform party poppers,
Juice on the pavement,
Let’s all scream for Monday.

Do the skies suck away compassion?
Because I see aviators without humanity,
Bomber crews without hearts,
Execrable souls within an iron demon,
Screeching along the zephyrs,
Where even angels fear to follow,

Does the pilot care for those his bombs flatten?
The lands rent by his payload?
I daresay not,
They simply cheer in patriotic tones,
Smirks underneath aviator caps,
Careless of the mushroom cloud in their wake,

They return to their air base sancerre,
And toast to the screams.

That green dragon we all know,
Corruption and temptation and envy,
Its wings blanket the land,
The most towering of vices,
The most pervasive,
And most toxic to be sure,
It poisons us all,
From drunkards to philanthropists,
Leading saints to Stalins,

Could it even plague the holiest?
The purest tempted to depravity,
Leading them down greedy paths,
Would even a saint a succumb?
Approaching that guillotine of temptation,
Still warm with past victims,
For the pot of gold he sees,
Left by a corrupt midas,
Nestled under the waiting blade.

I was submerged,
A dismal submarine,
Thrown overboard,
Laid low by fates gravity,
Into the embrace of a spiritless blue,
Lashed by whips of swell,
A penance for my idiocy,

For my mistakes,

In the cold of the abyss,
Fathoms and fathoms down,
My only companions were alcoholic guppies,
Ungrateful eels and sharks of disrepute,
They hissed and glubbed only pleases and pines to me,
I needed not to breath,
But let the icy water inundate my being,

To drown my thoughts,

And drown I did for too long,
Until a siren pulled me aloft from the wash,
On a bed of roses and bubbles,
She kissed me with a realisation,
That ocean was my own mind,
The darkest solitude,
And deepest expanse.

There are other worlds out there,
Alien and shadowy,
Full of miscreations,
Manticores and ghouls and chimeras,
Full of hunger,

Only a thin veil keeps them at bay,
A glass screen between the realms,
A blurry fortification,
A monochrome stained glass window we all push on,
Man doesn’t gently caress the wall,

Indeed man bashes against it incessantly,
Tempting fate and monsters,
As if galvanising our own slaughter,
Each crack in the veil is a dinner bell,
A welcoming call to the trough of this world.

To the freakshow I went,
Yes I did,
To see the Strongman,
To gawk upon him was to see a titan,
A toned personification of divine motif,
A visual ambrosia,

His body had been created by sorcery surely,
Built with tales as tall as any colossus,
His arms the girth of proud redwoods,
His chiselled chin had even cleft the canyons,
He whose stance holds asunder continents,
He whose shoulders could lift up the sky,

Metaphor only scrapes the surface,
The circus lights hid much of his humanity,
He was superhuman,
In another time,
A more simple time,
He could have been named a god,

A freak.