Best Seppuku Poems
I fight inside myself
but I am a paper warrior
rock and scissors had their way with me
cut up to shreds and pulverized to bits
I fight inside myself
but always hold the white flag
crying as rockets fly around me in the night
helpless and under-skilled
I run serpentine and aimless
bullets in crossfire
I fall into a hole
mud sucks at my shoeless feet
I scratch as I am climbing
the enemy surrounds me
laughing at my plight
I fight inside myself
and always lose the battle
defeating both sides
in simultaneous seppuku
laying on the ground
swords of truth buried inside
disemboweled with head hung in shame
I lost at my own game
I fight inside myself
but I am a paper warrior
rock and scissors had their way with me
cut up to shreds and pulverized to bits
Stately pines in Night's crimson Deep
Whisper a rustling song...
Gleaming steel, and warriors two
Beneath the weeping moon
With eyes a'dew and locked, embrace
The poetry of Death...
Alas the final shuddering as flesh
Gives home to sword,
"Tis done, 'tis done! Love's wage is paid-
The body's struggling dignity...
Upright no more, in blood awash,
Yet even then that silent reaching-
Grasping for his "Other,"
With heart a'twain and sorely cleaved,
He gasps that name which was his soul,
Beloved! See my troth!
The forest bows to reverence,
But nay, the thing's not done...
As flashing drops a pristine blade
In firmest grip of youth-strong hands,
And honor's deed's discharged...
Silence now, in clouded clamour,
As nary a sound escapes,
Save the gentle meeting of a
Fallen tear upon a leaf at the "Other's" feet...
My cerebral stability is not a sure thing.
I can see myself running naked down an airport runway.
I can hear myself shrieking through padded walls.
For so many people psychological security comes naturally.
These people make eye contact without fear of vanishing.
They sip tea from a glass and don't consider seppuku.
I look at Mona Lisa and I wonder what her game is.
I sulk in the corner and pretend I’m not invisible.
My silhouette is more honest than I will ever be.
My psyche is a seed buried beneath the soil of Carthage.
Its battle is up a hill with pits to fall in along the way.
There's something to be said for having to fight for your sanity.
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Ronin
Forty-seven men,
hereditary nobles,
military samurais,
serving their master,
who was betrayed and killed by
another lord, ronin's, they
turned masterless, schemed
samurai, three years
spun thieves, mercenaries, and
madmen, delight all
the challenges that are faced,
the adrenaline that is
peaked, did kill their lord
master betrayer and their
met deed, all did seppuku,
a mass suicide,
belief be dead, chose
myth, honor, than masterless.
***A ronin (drifter or wanderer) was a samurai without a lord or master during the feudal period (1185–1868) of Japan. A samurai became masterless upon the death of his master or after the loss of his master's favor or privilege.
2020 March 26
Howmanysyllables;
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The poets of our time go down as the Greats.
Those who wear disguises go down as fakes.
The rebels go down as revolutionaries.
Those who oppose the divine rule go down as non-believers.
Rain lightning its scary.
I sit in the middle of it all, pondering.
what will my legacy be.
Will the city only whisper chaos.
Or will the ground shake because of the pandemonium it brings.
Or will i become a ghost.
Forgotten by most.
Remembered by few.
A mans worst fear like a warriors seppuku.
Blood spews on the podium.
But your death wasn't honored.
It was forgotten.
buried under the sands of time.
But not I.
My legacy, My time.
Enemies won't spare those brave; by
opting seppuku, chose to die
never bothered.
Seppuku was not to commit,
‘twas to perform, ought to befit
ever honoured.
Event was part of more detail
ritual done outdoor; great tale
for rest to learn.
Performed before viewer to spread
the message for future; bloodshed
by best no spurn.
~*~*~
Note:: Seppuku sometimes known as hara-kiri, which is a native Japanese form of ritual suicide by disembowelment.
It was originally reserved for Samurai.
I don't ask anyone for much
no more than I'm willing to give myself
I learned to temper my expectations a long time ago
the consequence of constant disappointment
disillusioned down to the deepest depths of my soul
after all I’ve been told that has proven untrue
people pretending to think and feel differently than they do
their mask melting away to reveal their real visage
brandishing blades they thrust into my back
gutted as by a Samurai committing Seppuku
run through by swords of insincerity
my screams rendered silent
I bear the blame and shame they refuse to claim
upon my own broad shoulders
my snaky spine bowing under the weight like Quasimodo
A simple salutation would be a start to heal my harrowed heart
some sort of abstract acknowledgement
assurance that I’m more than a collection of cells
consuming resources with no productive purpose
that my words aren’t wasted on this apathetic world
where it seems everyone strives only to feed their own ego
How can one catch another’s attention
without coming across as crazy?
I’ve never seen the inside of a prison or a psychiatric facility
aside from a couple that had been converted into museums
A weary woman embarking on an expedition
searching for any shred of evidence of the elusive "nice guy'
unpretentious people who aren’t afraid to prove they care
others attest are out there, not merely mythical creatures
but then some say the same about Bigfoot
Maybe the existence of an eight foot ape is more believable