On the Battlefield of Life and Death

Silence, gripping her throat, as her eyes gasp
For air in the fatal heel clicks of his scythe,
Appearing from out the unknown reaches
Of abandoned lives, comes the cold shadow
To rape her of color, drag it while it scrapes
The hardened path to the underbelly of Sanity,
The demons playground, populated by the lost
And scorched by all those who continue to fall
Into the grasp of it’s engulfing sand, buried
On impact, as she feutily battles
With the dragging noose of that fable,
Shedding doubt, while the darkened fog
Swarms her mind’s sonnet, distracting
Her unsteady clutch around the fading light,
For all she desires before the inevitable plunge
Is one last glimpse, of those she’ll miss,
As the battleaxe slips from her grip, darkness
Comes toward her, places it’s cool hand upon
Her, and lulls her into it’s keep, tearing away
From her, all that she has nurtured
In her own arms, all that she frays for,
All the years of cuts and bruises on her heart
From this raging war that she bravely fought
To stay above the hollow echo, only to fall,
For death will always be the victor here
Despite our best efforts and strength,
She carries with her, the marks of victory
Throughout her war, that aged her well,
She’s now ready to let go.

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The Stranded

I have fought many wars,
Fields, encapsulated my prints
On stages of more defeats, than anything,
Traps and barricades were venomous,
As I tried to elude them on my path
Along the exploding shores
Of crashed lives that were, once
By my side, fighting equal battles,
But, lost along the way as I reach tops
Of mountains above eroded river banks
Holding the frightened sanity, crawling
To the foot of their devil,
I stand alone, defeated in my escape,
How can I rescue the stranded?

©DorianPoe 2015

War in Mind

I was entangled in a web, watching
My mind, get torn apart,
Ravaged, by ever famished dwellers
That crawl out from
The stalk of my spine,
Taking advantage, of my weakened state,
All happening, out the cusp of reach, Nothing to do, but succumb to the war
For there is no more retreating,
As my huddled trenches
Are reduced to fire pools that cradles
The slumber of innocence,
My sole whirlpool decline to the gates
As the soldier, in this war against sanity,
But whimpered attempts
Desserts me at the foothill, of rage,
Rage against the entanglement,
Working, to set myself free
In ceaseless battle against
A dooming sentence.

©DorianPoe 2015

Afterburn

image

A soldier in the field,
Crunching through the charred greens
Of a world buried beneath the inferno,
The ashes of a home
Swim at the soldiers feet,
He bows down beneath the wind
To pick up a burnt childhood,
As dreams break away in pieces,
He carries what’s left to the burning tree
And just before he tosses it in,
An offspring of nature
Distracts the soldier from falling erosion,
Wings carry hope to the wounded soil.