Echoes
Hidden phrase repeated ere;
in my mind, your words ensnare.
Nonsense sounds, in dust you wait;
echoes of another fate.
What far flung world these phrases haunt?
Molded by an evil heart;
A girl, desired be the taunt;
Brought to him, his soul to start.
"Bring me the girl," the echo cries,
why do I feel his tears in my eyes?
Echoed here for all times be;
heard beneath fate's branching tree.
Privledge
An ugly beast lives in my heart;
fed from life-long words not my own
He rages and snarls, decrying the progress of those;
who took the the other beasts call "animal."
For too long, the beast held my reins;
even still he slips the leash betimes;
Fragile, yet raging, the beast is my darkest shame;
taming its howling cries taking deep-thought vitality.
I am the master of my life;
Division will not be my motto.
The outstretched hand of friends, the heaviest chains upon its maw,
His power is gone, but his snarls remain.
The beast will always be with me;
I will not be beholden to its hateful sophistry;
The real animal is inside me, but it will not control me;
For no person is an animal, no matter the snarling of any beast.
The Great Pretender
Animal namer, false proclaimer;
what power do you crib?
False pious, seeking always to divide us;
Foulest words from you spring glib.
Your raging grows tiring, base and dithering;
the hunter is drawing close;
Hateful adulterer, soldier murderer;
Your self-service grandiose.
Your name is a lie,
your motto a false rallying cry.
The Overhand Parry
Left, down, flash, flash,
shuffled steps and panting lungs;
Grunt and move, parry and dash,
guard shaken, battle joined;
A bright silver note,
the stubborn reply;
Up, then back, his movement rote,
his opponent's eyes fix, his blade rising high;
Out of line, too fast to react,
a smooth motion, sure and practiced;
Twisting to block, silver blur runs down his back.Fal
A perfect overhand parry.ling.
His master's insisting tone unbidden to mind,
"Repetition is the best teacher one can find."
Fountain
The pen glides, leaving behind the stainig words from my mind;
When I let gold-find craftsmanship guide my hand;
Only purest and simple thought is left behind.
Blue, red, green, grey, black;
Ink in every color I can understand;
Shimmer or sheen picking up my handwriting's slack.
From germany or japan, steel or gold in form,
Giving life to the chaotic thoughts in my head, calming the storm;
My fountain-fed friends are my writing forces,
robbing my wallet of all its resources.
Do not edit other writers' sandboxes without permission.
