Tag: one

Narcissism? Nah. (Part 1 of 2)

by sidcorvid

This poem is one of two, both started with the same line, the same idea, but go in very different directions. The link to part 2 will be at the bottom

Narcissism? Nah.
Maybe I’m just better.
Ever considered that?

It’s just a law of nature.
I cannot be recreated or destroyed.

In my essence,
aspirations and material,
I am the dictator of your future.

Thanks for coming out,
Unfortunately we’re at capacity.

Allow to me to clarify,
This isn’t about me.
Forgive me, but you are not needed.

In unity we create a god.
In our spirit we will dominate.

I see the hate in your eyes,
Let me paint this in a different light.
Do you love her?

She doesn’t need you.
Your breath is an offense.

I’m sorry, friend.
This is where we part ways.
Trust me, it’ll be over soon.

 

Part 2 is on my new Facebook page, I’d appreciate any likes, and might run some contest to give away books if I get enough.

Narcissism? Nah. (Part 2 of 2) by Paul E. Wyatt Poetry.

Check out my book:
Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.

A Hero

by sidcorvid

He scratches his scruff
With the barrel of his handgun,
Knowing if he doesn’t clean it soon,
It will jam when he needs it most.

He takes another drag on his smoke,
Another sip of his mud,
No longer shaking at the shells
Exploding in the not quite distance.

He’s ready for his next charge
Over no man’s land.
The Vickers cannot touch him.
The raven flies overhead
And he knows it waits
For carrion; his enemies.

A man falls next to him,
Felled by a sniper’s round.
He is ready.
The order comes.
And he is first out of the trench.
He is first to fall.

His body will be picked clean
By Odin’s messengers,
But he has earned a seat
Amongst the heroes of his race.

my existence offending

by sidcorvid

My existence offending,
With every breath of smoke
Which is taken alone,
I march forward.

Fire erupts from the candles at the wake.
A man lies waste deep
Not ready to be interred.

Yet the birds still sing
O’er a body cut down
By Smith & Wesson’s
Newest thresher.

A miracle occurred today,
He has proven something,
If only for himself.

He has become an Ozymandias,
A king of the dead to be forgotten.
The works of his dying hands
Mattered only to his fleeing soul.

The triumphs of loves won
And the woes of years of defeat,
Are but memories forgotten.