Blog Archives

When Death Becomes Her

Is conceding to defeat
preferable to basking
in its inevitability?
Humanity began
another war today.
Where one concludes
another begins;
there is no end to
tyranny.

Oppression is what
keeps the heart at bay
and prevents our love
from living. Where
once love reigned
supreme, now she
knows only defeat, for
we have failed to
nurture that which we
once hailed as our
most paramount emotion.

When death became her,
she was taken at the
reaper’s blessing. His
minions, our militaries,
were only too eager to
prove themselves reliable
by eliminating the only
force strong enough to
halter humanity’s violent
expansion.

In the name of hate we
killed her; love is now all
but gone. Her demise will
not be remembered; just
another death on the
casualty list; just another
nameless number in the
statistics; just another
victim to the grinder that
is war. If love was as
popular as hatred,
perhaps she could have
outlasted till the bitter
end.

If this be true; if these
written words are proven
reliable and all that this
piece dare reveals is the
inconvenient existence we
are all bound to, then what
is the purpose to our
continuation? Why bother
submitting to a life that is
destined to be unfinished,
for what is life with the
absence of romantic passion?

The lie we would be forced
to tell ourselves in order
to get out of bed each
morning would be a betrayal
upon our very souls and
lead only to our damnation.
This writer can already
taste the suffocating hatred
that has drenched the
surface of our planet; can
you not taste cherub’s
defeat?

If love was so easily taken,
then what unfortanate
future is in store for our
soul mates? Why bother
living, breathing, eating,
if your lover’s flame has
already been extinguished?
With the amount of death
that has covered this
world, what chance is
there that your future
lover has already been
consumed?

What chance is there for us
if our futures do not include
such passion? What hope is
there for anyone if
tomorrow brings us no
closer to that which we are
lacking? If love is truly
dead, then we have
already joined her in the
afterlife. I only hope that
hatred does not exhist
there too.

To my Daffodil

SYNOPSIS: About leaving the one you love, only to always find your way back into her arms.

I ain’t no dramatist and I ain’t no liar;
I ain’t no interloper, ain’t no pariah,
but I have these negative emotions running throughout my head
and I do not wish to burden you with such pain so I instead
turn around and leave. One mile out, my car, it breaks down,
and I’m suddenly stranded just outside my hometown,
beginning to question why I had contemplated leaving
when all along you were and still are my reason for breathing
every day my delectable daffodil.
I know I still love you and I always will,
just as the sun will always rise at dawn; just as the sky will remain blue,
just as I will not want to ever stop falling madly in love with you,
for every single day I learn something new; every day I learn something totally different
and I have discovered that beyond anything else in this world you are incredibly brilliant.
So, I take this as a sign to make my way back to hold you again in my arms,
for our fate is intertwined; it’s written in the Heavens, it’s written in my palms,
and as I swim in your eyes whilst drinking your kiss and running my hand through your hair,
I’ll know more than anything that never have I felt better than with you right there.