twoheadedboy
09-20-2010, 02:14 AM
This would be considered prose and not poetry I think, but I don't even think you guys have a prose section... Well anyways, I just wrote this recently. I just pumped it out without too much thought of an ending, so it ends abruptly. Like it or don't, I guess.
Violence is like death; we should mourn it if it happens.
We shouldn’t accept it as a way of life. I’m not just talking about ‘drive-by’s and murder-suicides. I am talking about the way we speak, and the way we carry on. I know a kid whose got a murderous mouth and a girl who has cuts in her arms as a way to cope.
I’ve got holes in my sides from daggers and swords; tongues and mouths and dangerous curves. I know a few who have been hit hard by this storm, with waves like hammers, and anvils as shores.
I am tired of violence. I feel it in my bones. When I go to sleep I feel the turbulence and with the way my bed moves I’m tempted to think that my room is in flight. Only the pilot is drunk again. He’s lost control of the plane, but oh!- what is new?
Our mouths are filled with hooks from where we were caught and released. Violence begets Violence begets Violence-but what destroys it? Part of the problem is that I have no solution. I don’t have a plan to feed a billion starving kids, or clothe a million homeless men. I don’t have anything.
Violence and Death. One of those things is inevitable, but not both.
Violence is like death; we should mourn it if it happens.
We shouldn’t accept it as a way of life. I’m not just talking about ‘drive-by’s and murder-suicides. I am talking about the way we speak, and the way we carry on. I know a kid whose got a murderous mouth and a girl who has cuts in her arms as a way to cope.
I’ve got holes in my sides from daggers and swords; tongues and mouths and dangerous curves. I know a few who have been hit hard by this storm, with waves like hammers, and anvils as shores.
I am tired of violence. I feel it in my bones. When I go to sleep I feel the turbulence and with the way my bed moves I’m tempted to think that my room is in flight. Only the pilot is drunk again. He’s lost control of the plane, but oh!- what is new?
Our mouths are filled with hooks from where we were caught and released. Violence begets Violence begets Violence-but what destroys it? Part of the problem is that I have no solution. I don’t have a plan to feed a billion starving kids, or clothe a million homeless men. I don’t have anything.
Violence and Death. One of those things is inevitable, but not both.