Best Warfire Poems


Praise

Hell belches out more black-hearted ballads
                     than the accord of heaven that releases
                 only the innocent and wafting
                        lofty dreamings of a population 
               unversed in the ways of emotion. 

      They simper and insipidly bow and release
                delicate praises to the air as perfume... oh joyful
       white roses. Sweetly sing with your monotonous harpischords.

Not we.

           We are the fire in the blackest midnight...
              the mud that births monsoons of a terrible beauty.
        We tremble lest our own fire overtake us, we are the torrents
                  that pain your face with every gleefull beat.

               We are the dreamers of dreams.

     We are lovers, burning holes in sheets of purity and 
                invincible morality... we scream and shiver to our toes...
         oh haunting electricity.

          We are intense anger... the fury of emperors untold... 
     we shatter our enemies into the oblivion they beg for mercy
             fists bulging, contorted eyes stinging from the battle. 

         We are howls of bitter triumph, the sweet partakers of the
                lost cause. We are brazen to the thought. 

        We are the aroma of sadness that arises from the blackest pit, 
                                we are the oppression that snuffs out the candle. 
                     We praise from the very depths of our cavernous abyss
            our own masochistic knowledge... the fiery knowledge that burns us
                          as we consume ourselves.

Memories In a War

Machine guns spit fire on an urban slum, 
and voices cry out in an unknown tongue.
Grenade launch – 
“Take cover!”
“Get down!”
As blind as a bat, this Baghdad night.
A child’s scream, from the blackness,
 gnaws at my ear, 
and a table was set –
 four candles on a birthday cake –
 a camera freezes the moment.
“Wake up soldier!”
“This is what we were made for!”
“Don’t you go to sleep on us now!”
Machine guns spit fire on an urban slum, 
and darkness disguises the hostiles, 
and a child screams again, 
and again ….
 And again! 
Chocolate paints her pink cheek brown.
“In coming!”
Baghdad bright with fireflies.
“Let’s bring the heat to these camel jockeys!”
The merry-go-round spins my head in a daze ….
So beautiful, her eyes like her grandmother’s gaze.
“Wake up soldier!”
“Stay focus son”
I wake up to see Baghdad ablaze.

Ode To the Ghost Dancers

Lakota, Arapaho
Cheyenne, Oglala
Minneconjou
Where are they now?
Why is there so much dust
Over a fillet of memory?
The smoke fires are dead
And the discords of our life
We write as history.

     It is significant still
     The shallow content
     In which we drown for glory
     It is I 
     Remnant of a forgotten tear
     That must tell
     The similitude of a coordinated hell.

Despair is a state of mind
A featherlessness
Of warriors wings ... a moan
Leaking from a drum
On deserted prairie afternoon
I watched the ghost dancers
Cried with their feet,
And never saw a thing more desolate.

       These men freed from the bondage of their souls
       Came slow circle
       Through the trance of disbelief
       Lingered in the music of drums
       Retired from the melody of their hearts
       O how they danced
       The ghost dancers deserted by their magic
       They danced
       For the return of the buffaloes
       They danced
       Invoking the prairie grass to gallop
       From the horses feet
       Bowing only to the mastery of the wind
       Like fodder bows to fire and change

And the black cloud stood stagnant
Lethargic in the emptiness
For from the black breast came
No white milk to put out the fire of shame
Before the women and children vacant eyes
They danced for the land
That had aborted their dreams
And corralled them 
In the tragedy at wounded knee

       I don't care how we limp from it
       Regrets are only the arthritis of desire
       The buzzards roof the certainty of the eye
       The heat is white here like a bone
       Beneath the grinching grass
       The hoof beat dies
       And the ghost dancers caper
       In an agony beyond reconciliation.


Last Kiss

the blackness of night dawned upon my mind
bringing to light the error of my times
bone white brilliance burning
away the mist with the flame of yearning
the logic of insanity revealed its maze
of western society- Rome in its last days
death rides a wooden horse rocking to and fro
riding unnoticed through the party, were all watching the show
there's fire in the sky just off the horizon
there's fire in the sky a last kiss before dyin'

Could Happen Any Time

It won’t be long before nuclear weapons are unleashed is what I feel,
And everyone retaliates against the other the scenario so deadly but real.
Every little country with a nuke can bark as well as bite,
And these new leaders are itching for a fight.

They don’t seem to care about what will happen once they start this game,
This game of death and destruction will have no winners only fools to blame.
Men, women, and children will have their flesh removed from their bones before their
bodies hit the ground.
And those that survive will have it worse because of nuclear fallout all around.

We are on a fast train to destruction unless God intervenes,
But with our wicked ways we are helping to bring on this gory scene.
The world was destroyed once with water but He promised that would never happen again.
But fire and brimstone from the heavens would cleanse us of our sins.

What better description of nuclear weapons can you get,
Than fire and brimstone from the heavens and plans are being made for this you can bet.
How many know how long it takes for radiation to dissipate?
Those that know, know it is longer than we can wait.

Those that aren’t right with God, don’t you think now would be a good time to set your
house straight?
Are had you rather wait until something like this happens and you find you waited too late?

By Way of Battle

To be summoned by way of prophecy to rise with the sun a vigor of what's to come may no 
man nor women stand in the line of judgement as it's foretold let havoc be plenty as you 
srike down the enemy. Come dusk come dawn come feast or frey the dealer of sorrow will 
come your way, lineage will fall as this story is told the elders of tomorrow will be silenced as 
the many covens prepare for warfare in opulence has time come to this all rational has been 
dismissed. Let all who witness this rampage confess to their lord never again will eyes see 
such evil dished cold a diabolic means of bittersweet inconsequential payback, the pulse of a 
thousand nightmares highlight the mental stability of your mission as you go namless on your 
path. And when you decend past the boundaries of revenge and righteousness as you walk 
along the corridors and stand firm in the house of the creator with eyes fixed with fire and 
battle no judgement will be past on the side of torment and victory you've achieved. This 
journey has become unhinged the rage that possesses you in the name of the father will 
burn as hot as the fire of damnation tread swiftly into the brimstone as you enter the tattered 
gates of hell all is as it shall be scenes of an historic symphony.
© Cole Beck  Create an image from this poem.


Chase the Stag

A fire burns within my lung
The warrior's heart is just begun
The walk has turned into a burst
The battle horn shall quench my thirst
The sword shall be my compass guide
The saddle bed shall be my ride
A fire caught from only sun
Draw the bow, the stag will run
Chase the battle to the woods
Run the forest as I would
Crush the oak and burn the elm
Trace the game throughout the relm
Draw it back, hear it bend
Loose you arrow, speed shall send
Fell the hunted as the prey
The warrior's cry shall rise that day
As from his death I bring my life
The antler high has followed strife
Around your chest tie his feet
Warrior strong, you will defeat

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