The fire squadron hits me like a realization,
except the figurative sense is ripped out
and spat up, coughing,
thinking of how nice it is
not to breathe.
Any little movement and the bombs
will shatter sunrays and those little
grass snippets put between teeth.
Threatening, I suppose, the
rape with a machine gun -
the feel of cold spine
and how pig stenches taste,
the pretty bird damned
to roll in mud,
deaf windchimes pang their piddy song
over soaked mattresses
and a pair twitches;
army without uniform laughs bullets
I forgot how to
see
They can invade on doomsday,
their voices can beat and molest
and abort
but once they start shooting
I'm fucking running.
~~~
Author notes
prompt: run
I've been in a foul mood lately. And this made it even foul-er. Ignore it, DQ it, do whatever you wish with it, Tyler. I just needed to get something like this out, sorry.
Oh and the title sucks. If you couldn't notice.
A contest entry
- run. by sideways hourglass.
575 points, ended October 25, 22 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Don't hinder yourself:
Comments
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I love this and agree with it. I don't have any legitimate criticism.
-
Each holds the seeds of his own destruction . . . or so it would seem. Our enemies will never come down our street for they are already in our homes and they look out at us from the mirror. Yet, here we are. I'm hoping to make it through today, although I am not sure about tomorrow.
Excellent write, nothing suckish about it, and it carries the weight of truth. Well done.
Garrison
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The title is true, whether you feel it sucks or not. You should never apologize for what you write. It makes you appear to be begging for someone to tell you different. I am NOT saying that is what you are doing, but that is how it appears. The poem is actually quite well done. There was no need to apologize for it.
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