war, poem

As I lie, alone – abandoned by my country, I think. Over the eternal plains of inky thought my mind wanders, searching for a safe haven from the pain. The blood – my blood, slowly oozes from the multiple wounds in my chest; I’m waiting for the inevitable end: my heaven and my retribution. I have not abandoned them - I remained loyal to the last, they were the cornerstone of my faith. The godless Nazi bastards taunt me in my death, I merely smite them with my gaze. In the end I am the victor. 
Death has won this war
Death wins every war

my boy, poem

Nobody said it was easy,
by god, they were right.
One cannot imagine: the wispy figure
the deep blue ocean eyes
ungrown hair, dreary smile.

Devoid of spirit.

Abandoned by life.

His soft white skin, slowly drained of moisture
And a frozen grasp on a furry bear;
Tears forming on its glass eyes,
Casting looming shadows of reflection.

His last gaze searched my soul;
I hope he found compassion.
I pray he found his joy.
I wish he didn't have to go.

Here I stand.


Alone.


Endlessly cursing into the night,
Praying for my child.
My boy.

age of good, poem

When the grey moon begins to sink into the shameful perspex of space

The consummation of inauguration is finite trails of thought

Justica’s gaze shall smite the odes of man

And man shall say deities proclaim the word of hate

While the pure crow sings her watchful lullaby

And the souls of time and the yet to be known

Burden us all

With their painless sorrow and crippled touch

Fonts of wisdom and musty thought

Flow from the globules of human consciousness

Tearing down the bonds of brotherhood

Bringing to an end, the age of good.