Beginning of the Rye War [xiv]

Mmkay, new project. I am gonna write a series of poems...that tell a story. Like a poetic version of a concept album. Chaa. This is part 14.

Procrastination- Beginning of the Rye War {xiv}

There's something that
halts the march of today.
Some unknown terrorism
in the wisps of capital.

Open your eyes, raise
your comatosed head.
Show the world,
that after it all,
you're not deaf.

Grip tight the ammunition,
the politics of religion holds
nothing but a poisonous pall.
The flares hold empty goodbyes.

We march, a small huddle
of the seemingly innocent,
saying nothing about the
lesbian snake hidden under
the pallor of my skin.

My once trusty sword, arrow and bow
is rusting in my grasp.
The splinters stab into my pores,
shall I feel much more than this?
Am I destined to a pool of entrails
or a cocktail of glory?

The hope, the boy stands out there,
marching with his guardians.
Parental values cast aside for
puritanical trouble.

We are outnumbered. The battle has
finally begun.
We shall fight, no longer a coward
am I.

I will not stand back and see
heaven being torn down
for a whore.

I love.

That ripped all the words out of me. But I think "Wow" will fit just as well.