Twisting in a conspiracy of confusion,
a glacial melting of cocktail mixed thought,
shouting a last hoorah to enmity’s dreams;
a swing to buckle the shaking knees,
stiffening resolve towards a pointless war.
Fanning flames of a livid mindrape riot,
a perpetrator’s paradise hiding a backpack bomb,
I remained the instigator in my own hellhole;
a knotted net of self inflicted brutality
in a mind far too quick to tell itself self-hate lies.
For long moments there was a truce,
an awkwardness laced with darting eyes,
hate staring at hate with my hopes trapped
in-between weapons of self destruction,
waiting for me, myself and I to pull the trigger.
In the awful stillness, if a pin had dropped,
the noise would be the embodiment of violence,
like a crowbar crashing against rusting metal,
but all I could hear was the singular sound
of just one beautiful name whispered.
Then confusion makes a triumphant return
with a biting sarcastic and superior fanfare;
was the name the one on the tip of my dreams?
A long lived obsession, or the name more real,
the name with a soul that can make my eyes smile?
Author notes
Again, this is a look back to my personal circumstance/situation around 15 or so years ago.
A contest entry
- Bring Me a Beautiful Birthday. by xxRainbowDawnxx.
400 points, ended January 25, 8 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Anything and everything by Dryad Enya.
517 points, ended November 10, 222 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
' In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains. In the bed of the river there were pebbles and boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the water was clear and swiftly moving blue in the channels. Troops went by the house and down the roas and the dust they raised powdered the leaves of the trees. The trunks of the trees too were dusty and the leaves feel early that year and we saw troops marching along the road and the dust rising andleaves stirred by the breeze, falling and the soldiers marching and afterward the road bare with white except for the leaves. The plain was rick with crops; there were many orchards of fruit trees and beyond the plain the mountains were brown and bare. There was fighting in the mountains and at night we could see the flashes from the artillery. In the dark it was like summer lightning, but the nights were cool and there was not the feeling of a storm coming. Sometimes in the dark we heard the troops marching under the window and guns going past pulled by motor-tractors. There was much traffic at night and many mules on the roads with boxes of ammunition on each side of their pack saddles and grey motar trucks that carried men, and other trucks with loads covered with canvas that moved slower in traffic. There were big guns too that passed in the day by drawn tractors, the long barrels of the guns covered with green branches and green leafy branches and vines laid over the tractors. To the north we could look across a valley and see a forest of chestnut trees and behind it another mountain on this side of the river. There was fighting for that mountain too, but it was not successful, and in the fall when the rains came the leaves fell from the chestnut trees and the branches were bare and the trunks black with rain. The vineyards were thin and bare-branched too and all the country was wet and brown and dead with autumn. There were mists over the river and clouds on the mountain and the trucks splashed mud on the road and the troops were muddy and wet in their capes; their rifles were wet under their capes the two leather cartridge-boxes on the front belt, grey leather boxes heavy with packs of clips of thin, long 6.5mm cartridges, buldges forward under the capes so that the men, passing the road, marched as though they were six months gone with child. There were small grey motor cars that passed going very fast; usually there was an officer on the seat with the driver and more officers in the back seat. They splashed more mud than the camions even and if one of the officers in the back was very small and sitting between two generals, he himself so small that you could not see his face but only the top of his cap and his narrow back, and if the car went especially fast it was proberly the King. He lived in Udine and came out in this way very nearly every day to see how things were going, and things were going very badly. That was how they knew where we was going to be that day. Killing the King was an easy enough task, lay atop our house and fire a sniper. The bullet was lodges bewteen his apendix, it took his a while to die, slowly and painfully.'
This is the opening chapter from a book named A Farewell To Arms by Ernest Hemmingway. I do beilve the two link together. Concatulations on making the link between my favourite books!
Best of luk
Dryad Enya -
Oh I know how that feels! This is so beautifully wrote, it's kind of sad, but nice at the same time lol that makes no sense. XD
Adding your comment:
