There are no cowards on this field
Empty spaces, hard feelings
Nothing, but peers
In the eyes of the lost
A fatal shot, verbal, has landed
More pain than bullet or missile inflicted
Silence of a scream borne from pain
The deafening cry of a tear
Nothing so solid as cutting verse
None so hollow as the bereaved
All are empty full of pride
Not a mourner can be culled
From the onlooking faceless crowd
Like an autumn breeze do the platitudes fly
As rustling leaves do none observe
Where art the humans
In this village of the damned
Empty shells, no hearts
Just glistening shards of what was
No more pity, never a sign of remorse
Brings me to my knees
Divine light, I am humble
Now for the rants…
Meatball sandwiches are good, at least for us omnivores. Cats can be great company. Relatives, close ones, are joys.
I still want my comic books and MTG cards plus the odd mocha latte. However, I’m fine as the evidence of mans lack of interaction shows in the skies and lack of contributing pollution reveals the hidden wonders we took for granted.
I’m still jobbing my books, threatening to write another poetry collection and finish my horror/action novel.
This isn’t much of a report, I must admit. But in lieu of interaction with readers… this is the best I’ll get.
Take care, be safe and GERONIMO!
~ The Pirate Poet