The last great stand of the human soul
Is not my battle;
Is my cinema of epitaph
Scorched and set to it's own carved best,
No labour to project this bastion of
Photography, capturing everyman in
The throes of death.
The trench dug of foregone mercy
Lays it's own sheets, sewn of
Flags and bread; What are their
Dreams that i see on my picture screen?
The colours that have mixed all past:
A blur, Ethereal subtelty is not menaced
By the ingraining of chivalry.
One great nemesis on the barrier of industry
That took the answerable body
For trials and judgement, liabilities,
Misdemenours of other intent
Alas, this is not the people's jury;
The last great stand
Lasts not long at all
All rules disowned so the knights
Cease to seem so bold, so liquid
In morality and strengthened by duty.
To expand beyond one's means,
Broadened fake teeth and the spat
means of unified love, We dare not bleed such
Vital needs. Coarse are the words
That declare us the earth, not for brootherhood
But for some national ghost, a slick black coat
Or small wooden homes.
Everyman in the throes of death
He is my image, my relation,
The one for whom i weep at the slightest cut,
He who's departure is simply too much,
An outcome known to my mind, long
Before my eyes become aware.
Mutant glory becomes a platitude to those
That fight despite my cowardice,
And they see the invisible voyuerism as
Little hope for life after the soul.
Is not my battle;
Is my cinema of epitaph
Scorched and set to it's own carved best,
No labour to project this bastion of
Photography, capturing everyman in
The throes of death.
The trench dug of foregone mercy
Lays it's own sheets, sewn of
Flags and bread; What are their
Dreams that i see on my picture screen?
The colours that have mixed all past:
A blur, Ethereal subtelty is not menaced
By the ingraining of chivalry.
One great nemesis on the barrier of industry
That took the answerable body
For trials and judgement, liabilities,
Misdemenours of other intent
Alas, this is not the people's jury;
The last great stand
Lasts not long at all
All rules disowned so the knights
Cease to seem so bold, so liquid
In morality and strengthened by duty.
To expand beyond one's means,
Broadened fake teeth and the spat
means of unified love, We dare not bleed such
Vital needs. Coarse are the words
That declare us the earth, not for brootherhood
But for some national ghost, a slick black coat
Or small wooden homes.
Everyman in the throes of death
He is my image, my relation,
The one for whom i weep at the slightest cut,
He who's departure is simply too much,
An outcome known to my mind, long
Before my eyes become aware.
Mutant glory becomes a platitude to those
That fight despite my cowardice,
And they see the invisible voyuerism as
Little hope for life after the soul.
Author notes
What i'm basically trying to say here is that nothing is done for moral reasons anymore, countries don't help other countries or their own people out of moral obligation, it's all political. They'll help another country out for money, or oil, or special trade deals, or pass a good policy in order to get votes etc, and it's just us, the common people who get the shit from all this diplomatic positioning.
A contest entry
- The truth about life and all the lost morals standards no longer used in society. by darrylblacksr.
600 points, ended July 20, 2008, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Excellent
I agree with everything you say in this poem. I thought the last stanza was particularly good ending the poem with a fine conclusion. You expressed your thoughts and feelings well. Fantastic poem.

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Very well said, even though the countries or politics seem to forget the commonity of the morals it still remains with us the poor to keep them alive. Thank you for your entry in the contest and God bless you and your... Good luck...



