Culling the dead
Your lack of self-control
is what makes you manageable.
Some words if left unscathed will manage
to cut to the bone
You tried to mold me in ways
that would turn me to stone.
A solid with no emotion.
that way I'm all ways alone.
Another hopeless possibility
A so called thawing of bones.
A slit wrist who's blood pools into
this riddle of
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Categories:
culling, destiny, fantasy, funeral, imagery,
Form: Free verse
Culling the Herd
Droves who flash 'brand of God' all will die, Faith or not!
Faith's not blood we can paint on the gates of our homes,
wait for Passover's promise as servant's of God -
man's death falls, a cold rain, on the just and unjust!
Is it Grace that an antelope's leap escapes death
from a predator's hunger with young mouths
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Categories:
culling, faith,
Form: Rhyme
The Culling
The Culling
Happiness is a beautiful smiling word,
That soars the skies like a radiant black bird;
Culling ebony sheen downs from her sable breast
To fluff and cushion the crib of her protecting nest.
Murder and death are conjuring words too;
Sneaking around and stealing your children from you;
And though their bodies pile up in streets and on the bloody
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Categories:
culling, allegory, analogy, bird, black
Form: Rhyme
Culling
From loss, Love’s searching might
Kill doves with pine and spite
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Entrant: Rob Carmack
Contest: In it's Essence
Form: Verse : Essence
10.12.14
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Categories:
culling, bird, desire, loss, love,
Form: Verse
Mother Culture's Lullbye - the Culling Song
She sings to us,
Even when we hear no
sound,
Especially when our
eyes are closed.
She is always there
subliminally,
Inherently in the
background noise of
everything
The city traffic and
noise of the workday
She swims softly
through our head in
the after hours
Tempting us with
Toys and Riches
Telling us what
would make us Happy
She sings on the TV,
on the BIG SCREEN
more, more, more
She fills our head
with empty promises
of
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Categories:
culling, america, corruption,
Form: Free verse
Culling
Culling
Back in the ancient long ago,
We had the great Crusades,
Men with red crosses on their chest,
Used swords against scimitar blades,
Todays evil ones would murder all,
Is death a disease,
Does hatred of mankind, bitter gall,
Create such misery?
It is in man to cull the crop,
To trim the numbers there,
With 6 billion on the planet, stop,
Another, world slaughter, so
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Categories:
culling, adventure,
Form: Ballade