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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

not a poem
spoken word

I saw the tattered remains of The Pacifist's sail and hull,

Left silently decomposing in its harbor, lying in its own deplority,

Crumbling bit by bit into the cold, indifferent waters lapping at its hull

I smelled the fragrant salty air that blew in from the daz-ed sea

Hanging low and draped around the village-town that loved the sound

Of ocean singing its ambience like a lulling siren-song so long as

Water bursts and thrives and flows and comes and goes along its form-ed currents.

Which will last as long as Mother Earth exists upon her perch in nothingness

Until the Sunfather, radiant heartbeat giver of life alleviator of strife has had too much

And grows and grows as crimson blood then sighs explodes obliterating it all

So too will The Pacifist decompose in her own filth, while all along

The village-town follows suit

Because the old, corrupted heads who conspire together with dark undertones

Make the choices that are not their own to make with consequence for others in its wake

But its too late, they decide to take everything their shaking, wrinkled hands can hold

I watched them eat their flagrant feasts, they are always well-fed as

They mock the dead they sent to their doom without slightest gloom or heavy stone laid across their hearts

They are indifferent to others' struggles, that much is clear, but power they love

And money they crave, their crooked minds dictate how they behave to gain and crush,

Gain and crush, gain disfulfillment so gain once more; crush the rebellion, cruch the threat,

crush the resistance, crush the people for all they can get, oppress the wrong and right with equal indifference

And I observe the leading ones who send their men with guns to strike

And hurt and burn and crush and agonize their family, people, whatever

Is in their sights they fire, they epitomize all that is evil in this planet of mongrels

While whiteheaded bigwigs with stuffed pockets overflowing claim with crooked grin

I want none of this, you liar, you blasphemer, you reptile, you blackness

You stopped the movement of the quiet seaside, riddled its structures with bullets,

Riddled its people with bullets, left its complex abandoned derelict alone to rot like the ship in its bay

Submitted: April 12, 2012

© Copyright 2022 electricvelvet. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



Well-written and I love the details. Imagery is great! :)

Thu, April 12th, 2012 3:42am

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