Long Annihilates Poems
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He carries a shield and a sword
I, a virgin parchment and a quill,
He annihilates and draws blood
I woo and celebrate the muses,
He embarks for some distant shores
I find a nook and pour out my soul,
He ventures the perils of daring warfare
I dwell in the realms of rhythm and rhyme,
He is sustained by plunder and pillage
I live by love and hope for peace.
We are both brave and out to conquer:
He, the lands of lore
I, the heart and the soul,
He, for trophy and treasure
I, for love in good measure;
We are one --
him and I…
with the vision for a pristine earth,
with the dreams for an Utopian world.
~Another 2017 Stunner contest by Line Gauthier
~A Brian Strand contest.
Confounded, to an empty space
I send my question mark
The voiceless echo blurs my face
I send again, when sky gets dark
Who’s me? another chimney mouse
Most decent of all mice
I wouldn’t take your time for hours
With me it would be nice
To talk about our everydays
How well it goes, what’s wrong
And what seems right, in other case
We wouldn’t talk for long
I know so well, that you have changed
But there’s no way I could
Foresee how life is turning strange
The whole new attitude
Annihilates the time, that passed
The words, that has been said
Maintains the distance, that is vast
And silence you have sent.
In the beginning as it was on Earth,
there's a gentle mood played
in Iron Maiden's music...
before the shock of reality hits
us in the face and it's time to admit:
Everyone has demons to face,
dark places in both mind and soul
that we would love to erase.
Bury them with the kings of old
whose stories and legends have been told.
Haunting tales of past empires
and the fires they walked through
in life and death as their kingdoms
were raised in glory and then fell
from a time of being a euphoric paradise
before being tragically torn asunder
and thrown into the flaming bowels of hell.
Presented as a Book, though not Biblical
in nature, a history lesson done in lyrical form,
the concept deeply ensconced
in the importance of highlighting the soul's
memories of what was, is and will be.
There's relevance to the journey
in the Iron Maiden's song.
Rights and wrongs of mankind
since its inception centuries ago.
Life, death and the changing hands of power,
the tower built like Babel that unleashed
God's ire on man's desire to have worth.
On Earth, wars have always existed
because of the twisted need for greed.
The Book of Souls warns to take heed
that cities of stone will topple...
a prophecy currently coming true
for none are willing to sacrifice anything,
always wanting more for himself.
Kings flaunting riches, a bane to their souls
Commoners crying out in envious moans
for what they will never be able to hold.
History repeating itself from days of old.
Based on false tongues of wanna-be gods.
The book of lies is being read
and accepted by far too many blind eyes.
Is it the beginning of what the Book of Souls
sees as the repetitious pattern of doom?
Is it the time foreseen when civilization
closes its eyes to the reality of truth
and forsooth... annihilates itself and dies?
let me be a wanderlust vixen in the vortex ~
a voltage liquified to the upbeat vibrato,
versing vehemently in venom-glazed grief,
and rehearsing your criminalism
like a serial liar ~
because I am too voiceless
to command the Monarch of mercury
to vindict the sojourners
that lure me to their blind holes,
and vandalise the chromatic criticisms
that clench me in their cyanide claws,
through the cracks
branching in the demonised billboard …
Oh scorching serpent,
slithering with velvet-tongued torment,
never leave me tethered
between the lips of loneliness ~
like a leaflet tucked on
the seaglass screen,
screaming for those stygian seashells
to lock my secrets behind
the bars of misplaced passwords,
because, this pulse of paranoia
is too pure to palpitate
in the pixels of poisoned prayers ~
and there is no anecdote
that annihilates the anxious
acronyms of abandonment,
streaming through the realms
of disposed dimensions.
There are no strings attached
that hum in hexed hoaxes
through the violin vendetta
strumming an acapella ~
through the lusty noise
of monsters longing for
the loss of my sacred insanity …
perhaps, the voice in my head
is an ode to the orchestrating shadows,
too mindless to manipulate ~
scripted in secluse
replaying the ruins,
paused in the prison
a sketch of sleep in splitting senses …
as bipolar ballads
tame their schizophrenic strokes ~
when the Maestro of moon
mediates a megalomaniac
sonnet of venting slaves,
in the muted matriarchy of mantras
that keep repenting rage,
in the impulsive incandescence
of my icy azure ink ~
refusing the warmth
of vulnerable sagas
that ache to heal me
and release the
insomniac coldness ~
blanketed with the sparks
of murky mermaid stars …
I own this label ~
the name of a lunar lunatic,
and this is a war,
between the sphinx of sabotage
and the never-ending nocturns ,
as, I remain weapon-less
like a cardinal iris,
rewriting the rules
of unshakable madness
in your maniac meanderings,
ineffable ~ invisible ~ incurable
an impostrous
i n v a d e r …
FARE-THEE-WELL TO RACISM:
I was really discredited in my own state,
However my lips don't annihilates.
Merely I lost my sentiment,
When I was treated with contempt.
Maybe you don't really understand this.
But anytime you also receive a diss,
You retaliate based on your feelings,
And you see it to be your healing.
Yet,what's wrong when my eyes speaks,
After you've made my heart bleed?
Is it wrong for me respecting you,
As an imperfect fellow human,
Or should I treat you like a pretty fool,
For you to say I'm very inhumane?
Frankly,unity is the beautiful clue,
That my heart beat for...as a truelove,
Only to make the world a fine place,
For us to have one big divine faith.
A divine faith to eradicate hatred,
The hatred that turns us into aliens.
Aliens that love and promote racism.
Which breeds wars and favoritism,
Through competitions and religions,
That lacks values and core reasons.
Is it wrong for my cutis being black,
And yours being white?
If No,why are we shedding blood,
In this unnecessary multiracial fight?
Please the world needs to stand as one,
To achieve the peace that we aspire.
A soul's etched cartography
compasses spins a needle frantic
above a parchment of skin.
A map…
Each line a river I've drowned in,
blood I waded and divide
each faded scar
a language scarlet, unfound!
My soul no longer shapes
foreign land of waste annihilates
behind my eyes...!
I see nothing
deserts exhale silent sacred sands…
Hearts pulse with unheard drums
an archway to oblivion
weathered eons I haven't lived.
I drift towards a courtyard,
run riot in green eternally…
Where faces blur like old cars
my mind whispers, doom from afar
on winds that don't remember me.
Trace the contours of my lost continents
in this cartography of bone and shadow.
Forgotten by the wraiths of the moon…
that echo within my chambered heart.
A tarnished key lies heavy in my mind,
unlocking doors behind infinite walls… sublime!
Poems I write may make me look a dunce
so I’m going to take my time for once
See if this brain is with impotence
Or when strained there’s difference
A stanza with 2 rhymes in each line
Not a bonanza ringing holy wind chimes
Near poem ends I can be guilty of decline
As I fill those lines with absent mind
I write rhymes like Mussolini runs trains
track under me at ease with no strains
a beat never stationed retains
as these witty words entertain
I write rhymes in a rush you must believe me
my mind doesn’t pull or push it just feeds free
like it’s fresh out the clutch with liberty
delivering the power of a Christmas Tree
Weak that be
Oh well stay with me
Yet to peak
So stay and peek
My poetry goes like a river
full of life and litter
flowing on the surface
but underneath you’ll shiver
long winded and surplus
or a trouble digger
It’s a revelation that I can levitate
with perfect coordination as I demonstrate
how to elevate my general state and infatuate
exceeding expectations with no waste for you to slate
nor complications creating a miss communicate
I’m passionate and it fascinates
don’t concentrate at faster rates
Spasitating as I gasperate
like a wordsmith that exaggerates
robbed and at the magistrates
this rhyme here annihilates
crashes down and shakes
it’s point is hard to state
See most of my poems make me seem a dunce
So I thought I’d go and take my time for once
See if my pen has ink that spunks
Or if I’m a unique simple punk.