The War of Brothers

Blood litters a grassy battle field
The blood of my brothers
Men of the same family fighting against one another
Guns fire
A symbol of the child's cry
A man falls shot down by a man of the same country
What is this madness?
Why do we kill one another?
Death, a warriors cry into the cold night
They call it 'Civil' I call it Hell.

Pale Horse

 

Death sits on my back

Scythe in hand

I fly through the air

Hooves off the ground

Where we are going,
I don’t know

He feels cold like ice

Like my death was

Cold

I don’t know much of it

My death

But I do know that

I am death’s pale horse

And he is my dark rider.

What to Post that is the Question

The words buzz around my mind angry bees giving me so much to say, with no time to say it. 

I trip over my scrambled letters trying to place them into a coherent sentence.

No successes comes my way. 

Sitting spinning in a seat so soft like a cloud. 

The letters in my mind they won't make words like scramble with no solution in site. 

I try to catch the words but they are like a butterfly just out of your reach. 

I grab them finally a poem is born.