When the Child Kills a Lion

Falls a drop
to the floor;
an echo,
nothing more.

Another.
From where though?
Is it me?
My ego?

It can’t be.
This is real,
no matter
how I feel.

So I ask
when to stop.
Say, “Never,”
My head propped.

“Are you sure?”
“As can be”
“Then just, please,
look at me.

“We lock eyes
over long
listening;
a sad song…

heard before,
in days past,
but today
is the last.

Relay this
but they know;
already
time to go.

“I’m no good,
half of you.”
“Please just act
as you do.”

“Is that right?
Forget us
move along
without fuss?”

“It will be
in due time.
You must trust
there’s no crime.”

“Disconnect
go ahead.” –
Now I live
while I’m dead.

End myself
and my soul.
Finally,
I am whole.

The Silver Bird

There were others before me,
there would be more to follow.
Souls sent out into the rift
destined to shift or wallow.

I shifted on my first trip.
There on a ship with strangers
drunk with the promise of gold;
bought and sold to the dangers.

Only a few of us knew
what would ensue past the line.
I had heard stories of course;
but their source seemed more the wine.

Now it seems very sober;
fears shared over wine are weak,
without drink they rage inside
amplified by self critique.

As the ship approached the field
some of us kneeled in lament.
Of course, nothing could be seen,
but all gleaned the ripe event.

I watched the first of us go,
with a soft, low clapping sound;
air snapping back into place,
in the space it now had found.

Somewhere else, my friend was lost,
surely a cost justified.
We had no hope or function
past what this junction implied.

I stood there at the threshold;
one amongst the bold souls left
until I too disappeared
Found new fear, the rest bereft.

One moment I was at sea,
the wind around me, whipping;
the next, stagnation. Darkness,
held by harness and sitting.

The light and dark in this place
had a strange pace, throwing fits;
flitting as if in a fight,
no focus to right my wits.

A companion beside me
with arms like a tree, pleaded
strange sounds, pounding my torso,
I don’t know what he needed.

Then there arose such a crash;
a giants bash against the steel
that ripped our carriage in two
pulling others through with zeal.

We screamed, a sound we could share,
while the air ate us with greed,
watching the mountain and sky
pass us by in blinding speed.

A bright yellow thing dropped down,
bouncing around on a string;
While I mirrored its progress,
I could not repress puking.

I awoke being dragged out,
through some strange route to the light
and oppressively cold air
with the few that dared to fight.

And fight we did, night and day
to keep at bay cold and fear;
to eat enough to survive
stay alive though death was near.

A fortnight passed, we drew straws.
We had cause to eat the dead,
but one had to try it first
and be cursed, so it is said.

Months of eating were thus found,
in every pound of our friends,
but no one would ever state
that we all ate in the end.

Like me, this reality
became debris undefined
up until our extraction;
the reaction was maligned.

Though I could not understand
none would remand another,
I may no longer have a home,
But I roam with new brothers.

Waiting in Queue at Verdun

We stand waiting for a break in line,
Staring the thousand yards at our spines
Through BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM violent hues in bloom;
Metallic rain that levels the pines.

The captain calls out over the sounds,
To send another out to the hounds,
BOOM-BOOM the bombs crawl, BOOM-BOOM and they fall;
No more will I see them above ground.

Hearing my name sends ice through my veins
I breathe deep and embrace the insane,
A last act of violence, sulfured silence;
I hear nothing, nor shall I again.

Unavoidable

Catch the new season on your favorite stream
The worlds end is on the horizon.

Take a nap to enjoy a better dream
The worlds end is on the horizon.

Plan a vacation with your closest friends
The worlds end is on the horizon.

Track down your enemies and make amends
The worlds end is on the horizon.

Start a collection of the best coupons
The worlds end is on the horizon.

Travel the world to meet all your icons
The worlds end is on the horizon.

Ask for that promotion that you deserve
The worlds end is on the horizon.

Decide to live on a nature reserve
The worlds end is on the horizon.

Decide you are “done” with the internet
The worlds end is on the horizon.

Anything at all to help us forget
The worlds end is on the horizon.

A Fly

Wind blows gently across the plane,
It’s soft hands sifting through the grain;
A golden ocean crashing endlessly,
Relentlessly splashing,

Colliding with the setting sun,
Deep purples on the horizon,
Lulling the world to sleep with hues of blue,
And sweeping clouds askew.

A depression hides in the field.
A secret quietly concealed,
Some wandering soul now lost to the earth;
A cost assigned at birth,

A body of anxiety,
Now bereft of society,
Become a bloated, bountiful buffet
All decayed and fetid.

Yet the wind still finds its beauty;
Perhaps a false sense of duty,
It circulates the smell through the valley,
Life rallied with a knell.

A perfect place for young flies,
One decides as it lands on an eye,
And then skitters about to find its place,
On the face to be mined.

It rises and lands on the cheek,
A landscape both supple and weak,
But then the cadaver struck the fly dead
And said none would have her.

Then settled her hand to her side,
Contemplated the world outside,
And enjoyed her death as best as she could.
The good life, she thought in jest.