punkLECH
12-08-2002, 06:34 PM
Ok, I don't normally write poetry. In fact, I don't write poetry at all. But this is what I scribbled onto a napkin one night a donut shop a few months ago. Neither have titles because I didn't ever decided to title them. Criticism, please.
Untitled
In time of war,
chests swell with prejudice.
Forsaking temptation,
toes curl inwards
lighting fires in the soil.
The worms and vermin prosper
never happier,
never more content
than when they were soldiers--
marching toward their deaths.
Untitled II
You say "We were happy then."
I say "We were both mistaken."
You shake your head, unbelieving
I nod and smile, remembering
You were right.
I was wrong.
I hate you for it.
Untitled
In time of war,
chests swell with prejudice.
Forsaking temptation,
toes curl inwards
lighting fires in the soil.
The worms and vermin prosper
never happier,
never more content
than when they were soldiers--
marching toward their deaths.
Untitled II
You say "We were happy then."
I say "We were both mistaken."
You shake your head, unbelieving
I nod and smile, remembering
You were right.
I was wrong.
I hate you for it.