Sestina Tribute Poems | Sestina Poems About Tribute
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Round tiny bug moves slow along the garden path
Avoiding traffic as it trudges along
Carries the hardened armor of its ancestry
Down there too, through the centuries
The weight of that nobility
With it, on its back, through history
Portals of time laid out in its direction
Its lineage developed skills for battles
In darkened bitter caves
With aging somber rocks in far off lands
And along the seasoned shores
Over millions and billions of years
Ants search day and night for this small creature
Little round bugs are a staple on their menu
They will not rest until
This morsel is served up in honor of their queen
Solo insect as black as death
Stands by in armor ready
Ants take their forces onward against the drop of day
Their tiny march relentless, endless and grave
Black bug hunkers down in his encasing
Waiting In case bad things should happen
And to survive another day
The army attacks
Storms in on solo bug in stark surprise
With concise incisions ready
Sharp mandibles set to dissect it on the spot
Little bug has one last trick
It tastes of sour and stinky feet
The ants retreat defeated
Round bug makes its rounds about the garden gate
In its cultivated aged defense makes it to another day
Future generations will praise this day
That kept their kind alive
Depriving queen ant of a nasty meal
Of destinies surprise
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
Little girl, you who plays princess with the glittery hat perched on your head,
The ribbons cascading down from its tip, tears from your heavenly eyes,
The scepter of a metal pipe and ball gemstones in your hands,
You have no idea who a princess is. You just pretend.
But really, all you know is a virtual reality,
Separated by electronic walls.
Your path to paradise separated by walls
Of incompetence, little girl. In shame hang your head.
If only you knew your life was a game you already lost, in reality.
When your subjects look upon your tattered dress and your downcast, shady grey eyes,
Go out to your balcony of segregation. Wave and pretend
Their lives are not in your hands.
The world is in your hands.
With them you can slay dragons, knight worthy men, build walls
In your castle, your little realm of pretend.
In it you have corruption and power. Tell them to chop of a man’s head
And that they do, without a glimmer of remorse in their eyes.
Little girl, if only you knew this could never be reality.
The scepter you claim is a diamond, in reality,
Just your mother’s glass necklace, clutched in your hands
To match the long-gone glimmer in your childish eyes.
Throughout the years, little girl, you’ve built all the fake walls
Between the princess of yesteryears and the current fog in your head.
Just remember – you are a marionette. Free will is pretend.
Little girl, you have always played pretend.
It’s your feeble attempt at escaping reality.
But now that your scepter is broken, your kingdom is in your head,
Pouring out onto the paper with a broken heart, a pencil and two hands.
All your impassible, unbreakable walls
Left unbetrayed by your cloudy, lying eyes.
You could never tell the color of your eyes.
On the color spectrum, they fell in lying or pretend.
Little girl keeps building those walls
To put more distance between her own broken soul and reality.
As you grow cold, your pale hands
And arms mimic the destructive bloodshed in your head.
Your impenetrable walls to the secret worlds burrowed inside your head
Little girl’s mastery at lying not even deceived by your eyes, when reality
Dictated that your world of pretend would die in your scarred arms and hands.
Copyright © J. Amorose | Year Posted 2017