Sigma
“Sigma”
It’s a deviant world
a lone wolf finds a place to fit in;
it’s pure poetry, war
heroes dance ducksteps with the romance of it all
some rise, they return home to other meaningless battles
some fall, looking for greener grass and their God
some do not return at all
they find it better to escape
they drift off dissolving into other better or terrible worlds
it’s hard poetry, the romance of war
when you hit the revelation wall;
prayers unspoken sleep,
demons
with their promise of salvation
return
they are put to bed
roughly, like a whore
adorned in slippery satin ribbons of red
masks now removed
snow like medication breathed in
dreams like opium warm the cold veins
pierce everything
like a bayonet
shut out the din
flood an enlarged heart
with all its kintsugi cracks seeping honey and sin
smiling grimly the good humour well-hidden
heroes dream of taking the lead
the quiet broken, dimly lit pawns
avoid the gun-fire and blistering burn of noisy shadows
ptsd survivors
like voiceless poets,
sometimes rise instead
ruling deeply over outranked warriors
CandideDiderot ‘25
"...When you come home
I'll bake you a cake
Made of all their eyes
I wish you could see me
Dressed for the kill
You're my man of war
You're my man of war..."
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2025
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