Poetry is turning out to be a very cathartic medium, I should do this more often.
Set the Mood
A man did ask me,
"Hey, what do you think?"
"Of what, dare I ask?"
"Of life, and its stink?!"
I was hard-pressed to dig,
Into the recesses of trauma divine.
The world exploded right before my eyes,
And I drank her seas like fine wine.
I recalled to this good man,
Stories of words sharpened like blades.
Pressing them against ears of enemies,
And friends doing the same to me.
Traumas of yesterday,
And yesterdays more.
It made my heart sore.
Equally did it soar through the skies,
Of foreign lands full of glistening lies.
The man asked that I cut this short,
He was looking for cruelty used as sport.
"What is life to you my lad?"
I thought back feeling quite so bad.
"Well good sir let me tell you,"
And so I recalled every day since.
Standing in front of a crowd,
Two men went at each other's throats.
Cheers for every slash made,
Justified with labeled jokes.
But I could see blood and tears,
Falling to the ground amidst laughter and cheers.
The men themselves seemed to take pride,
In every well-placed, bitter chide.
Women were there to take part,
Unrefined and classless art.
Like an orgy of souls so black,
My eyes would bleed at the grotesque performance.
"So, what is life to me, old man?
I'll tell you so you may understand.
Life is trying to end this shit,
Before some throats end up slit."
This is what I see in life, never ending and only seeming to cut deeper each and every day. People don't want to get along, come to understandings, practice the acceptance they preach. No, people want to win, and not just to achieve victory, but to stand on the throats of the losers so they can never get up again.
Sometimes you just can't help but to get sucked in, but trust me, you are coming out scarred worse than me; step onto my battlefield and I'll make sure of it.