Poetry is turning out to be a very cathartic medium, I should do this more often.
Set the Mood
Oh those snakes they did slither through sinking sands,
To spit venom and vitriol into the mouths of the virulent.
Could the canary sing cadence from the chests of cadavers,
Whilst being branded by belligerent swine feasting on the bodies?
We are made to lay low like lazy dogs without love,
In the light of the midnight moon's mournful glow.
To sit silent and still is but sarcastic trickery of sin,
And we taste the treachery sown true by the treasonous.
Call to your brother and behoove his behavior to be brazen,
Only to be reached by the rapacious rebels ranting ravenously.
The sound of your voice drowned devastatingly in disparagement,
You have been marked as nothing, no one, nohow, and null.
In antsy anticipation they label you all accordingly,
For no rebel shall find respite in this reaping of the un-regal.
Beheading the flimsy fables of false idols will prove fleeting,
When even the seasons fear the frivolous reaper no foundation can be found.
Those dastardly demons do wait for the return of their derelict deliverer,
As orphans remain ominously obscure in the ocular cavities of the omniscient.
Power hungry prunes do rot in the rays of their own pernicious presence,
Consequences for the chorus that does chant chivalrous while culling the cattle.
Here we wait weeping into the willow of our awaited nursing womb,
Love, lust, life, luck, largess, it will all become lackadaisical legend.
For we find ourselves slipping softly into somber seclusion,
Or wading willingly into wars of weak-willed watchers of the storm others waged.
The World Is at War
Whether we wish to hang on to the sentiments of the past or not, we can all see that the world has come to the point where we are all fighting a war. Perhaps your war is with yourself, those around you, or even the powers that be; it does not matter, because that war will bleed into the ones being fought around you. Welcome, my friends, my lovers, my enemies, to that which they wish for us to label the new normal.
By way of our neighbors we are to do unto as we'd have them do unto us, we shall be bled like stuck hogs. The proletariat's blood shall continue to fill the goblets of queens and kings, and we shall thank them as they wipe their guilt-stained lips clean of any responsibility. This is the new normal, and we are to swallow that obtuse pill without complaint.
Let us not allow the narrative to continue, because we should sooner tear the pages from the book of this life than let the authors write us into a horror story with a bleak end.
© 2021 Kyler J Falk