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Tyler Ahern Poem
Shrinking back into myself,
Shaking the thoughts out,
The virus in my brain,
It sticks like chewing gum in my hair,
I’ll have to cut it off,
The nightmare of his mistake.
I won’t accept it,
My mind rejecting any memory,
Like I punched in the wrong code.
Instead in manifests in my dreams,
Pouncing in my sleep,
Making me question myself,
Making me terrified.
I tell myself that I hate not knowing,
But I don’t really want the truth,
I can’t ignore it, but I wish I could.
I am just a little girl with no one to turn to.
He is an adult man, who I can’t trust.
Copyright © Tyler Ahern | Year Posted 2016
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Tyler Ahern Poem
I feel it building, overwhelming,
I am a card house and there is a storm,
Refuge itches my brain, begging for attention,
I can’t ignore it,
It is my oldest friend,
Always there in my time of weakness,
My skin welcomes it,
It’s all too familiar sting,
And the storm rushes out my body,
There is no more storm,
No more acid in my veins,
I admire the carnage,
Rain is still pelting down but the card house shakily stands.
Copyright © Tyler Ahern | Year Posted 2016
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Tyler Ahern Poem
The guns are still firing, bang bang bang,
But the sound doesn't register with comatose minds.
Old boots trudge through mud as if it were wet concrete,
The heavy feet move on though their energy is depleted.
The kit brings them down with worthless weight,
Bullets and bombs enliven the dull sky but kill the men,
They, sleeping soldiers, walk on incognizant of the brawling guns,
Death waits for nothing, but they all wait for death.
'Gas! Quick! Gas!'
Urgent and desperate voices call out,
Masks go on, but did they do it in time?...
A man struggles, twitching and stumbling,
Unearthly shrieks escape his mouth and fill the air,
Making it known that the ruthless assassin has claimed one more,
Sleep clouds his familiar face,
His eyes bestialized and his body robbed of it's character,
Blisters leaving the face they once knew unrecognizable,
The agony leaves his face and takes him with it.
If you recurrently relived his death as you stared at the white of his eyes,
His face like the aftermath of a war he could not win,
He would not escape your thoughts.
Blood came gargling from his tainted lungs,
Like death itself was climbing out of him, searching for another;
Worthless ruby jewels crusted on his unwashed face.
You would not believe in the glory of war,
That war determines the right from the wrong.
No; war determines only who is left.
Copyright © Tyler Ahern | Year Posted 2016
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Tyler Ahern Poem
Blue kettle on the heat,
Whistle and scream,
There is no one to meet,
So release the steam.
Shiny exterior,
Now tarnished; crude,
Skeleton wearier,
Because of the shrewd.
Spilling over, it’s seen,
Begging for ease,
But to help, no one’s keen,
Silenced at every ‘please’.
Copyright © Tyler Ahern | Year Posted 2016
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