Somber slate clouds blanket the longing skies,
whilst wisps of snow paint the frozen ground below.
Ombre leaves barrenly speckle slumbering trees,
glistening sheets of ice coat their fading existence.
Another bitter winter blows in,
like thistle tangling around forsaken irises.
Threads of changing seasons cling to my coat.
Taking a deep breath, I exhale, watching it hang in the evening air.
“Anywhere but here” rings in my head.
Empty coldness soaks into my soul,
as an icy blue-white depression takes hold.
Loneliness rests upon abandoned courtyards;
decaying rose petals become fossils
between layers of winter’s aquamarine verglas,
bathed by the snowglow of another illuminated midnight.
Death’s cold fingers trace my spine,
submerging me further into the gelid grip of despair,
massacring any hope of escape from this torment.
So alone in the crowd with the people all around me
So alone in the dark with the lights all around me
Feeling the chill tearing my chest
In the neck deep water of the mountain crest
Seeing the sky with the aurora light up
And becoming a man who is fed up
Lived in the dilemma, was I a good one?
Or was I just an expendable one
Leaving the world like a saint soul
After massacring thousands of young goals
Was I dead before I was killed
By the hand who helped me up still
Yes, I was dead before I was killed
Left with a cold heart which was beating still
Blackberries start as white dots in a sea of thorns
The flower will fade, and a green berry will join
Protected, it will grow and be pink
Safe from even a massacring mink
Larger, it will swell until it is red
No enemy can lay down their head
Darker and darker until it is black
The berries are ready for an attack
Sour, but delectable
The thorns are detectable
But what about the thornless blackberry bush?
Poor girl, she starts off white
Like the others that night
She grows into a misshapen berry
Unlike the others (who are), lucky? Very.
She stays as the others grow
Poor berry, behind she tows
The rest are protected by thorns of steel
But this poor one just needs a deal
From green to pink to red to black
The other blackberry is held far back
If only she could get some thorns
To protect her from the world's horns
The neglected female, without protection
Her parents have given her no love and affection
The other ones shall grow strong
Their parents are never gone
-September of 2020
Silent the guns and call your enemy
to say hello, as long as there is life in you
and empathy in mutual suffering by
the massacring virus invading us
like a shrewd salesman of death.
Senseless arms buildup and proxy wars
keep fuel on its fire burning us alive.
Its catastrophe knows no bounds and
we may well be receiving its first wave
like an unending tsunami intent on
submerging all, with no pity for our
piety, or romantic isolationism.
Let peace reign, like clear air, so we
marshal our energy toward the common foe
spreading its eagle wings of death like a
dark and venomous cloud.
Match its irreverence for life with
neighborly love.
Fight its undeclared war
with touch of humanity.
Repel its evil spirit
by planting the sapling soul of peace
in your heart.
Embrace universal truce so
we may all live through this dark carnival.
Ongoing the 21st century's free style massacre
The horrible morning has started there in Myanmar,
Satan is tormented by theses and has come down
To learn the massacring styles in special gown,
But no one has yet directly protested the bestiality
So the massacrers gigantically speed up in cruelty;
So long the morning! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
The massacrers are devouring the breakfast for long
With soft bloody flesh and red soup again and again
And preserving the rest for the future want in time;
I don't know when and where will be the noon?
And then when and where will be the evening?
And then when and where will be the cursed night?
For the final maelstrom and the devastating fight
Or shall the morning cover the whole day only?
And then when will a morning start peacefully?
Your love, my Lord
The bastion of my soul
No enemy of your Word
Ever, able would be,
Its walls of devotion to
Ascend
For
Hate, the kingdom of terror to
Establish!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
19 JANUARY 2015
*Boko Haram, Nigeria, just used a 10-year-old girl as
a bomb detonator, right after massacring up
to 2,000 people. To these victims of terror, I dedicate
this little poem of mine! God bless their souls!
Red wine stains on sheets,
music notes that bleed silence.
Grand poets on abandoned streets,
writing melodic poems of violence.
Venetian masks of golden designs,
gondola rides that pursue insanity.
Deception and lies clutching vines,
violet petals consumed by vanity.
Jugglers and peddler monks anew,
begging for a temporary treasure.
Midnight exposing her glass shoe,
judging true beauty by pleasure.
Laughter echoes in the distance,
frivolous acts of social compliance.
A Dubliner that questions existence,
caught between religion and science.
Cowering judges tremble in shame,
condemning their daughters and sons.
Hangings become their festival game,
death lotteries massacring loved ones.
Crimson sunrises sweeping the night,
tearing heaven from hellish abyss.
Scattering ashes in seething light,
that destroys passion's only kiss.