Verse for The War-Torn

For author's complete poetry go to http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/rrksr

 

 

Muhammad is no Jesus

 

Gorgeous the sky, promising the morn,

even smog seemed this day forsworn

not to cloud the peaks of industry

where free wills espouse modernity —

flawed but human — and exchange,

extending humanity’s global range.

Into this innocence of framing the day

streaked the dark intent of Islamic's way

ingrained with macabre shibboleth:

annihilation to those whose alienated

struts are not in time with Muhammad,

a sword wielding prophet twisted by might

to bludgeon free faith’s right

to bliss and quiet love of divinity

first spawned with loving affinity

from a manger hundreds of years before

whose message threatened the lore —

the bloody, godless sands of tribesmen —

with peace on earth, good will to men.

 

Humanside of Ironsides

 

Broadside they braved the screaming sight

As cannon fire streaked the nerves

And rammed ajar perception's hatch

Of starboard's line doomed to no reserves,

As England's navy could dispatch,

Yet endured fear and flow of salted blood.

Aye, leathernecks of virgin seas and land

Were tanned in paradox: pursuits of good

Envisioned by Virginia's Sons, subversive bands.

History logs effect and cause aright;

The captain logs torment of men in plight.

 

Nam

 The marine, now mateless, sunk his spade.

 Shaken by day's flirtation with the reaper's edge

 and aching from Ares' relentless blade

 driving deep into men of war his wedge

 that splits the natural human will to be

 content in touch with God's idyllic yields

 unassociated with ambition's fee

 for dealings incongruent with greening fields.

 

 Pride was the anvil for defoliating tools:

 but an hour ago his digging mate,

 killed in compliance with red-eyed rules,

 was a patriot supreme but used as bait

 cast by Power's enterprising ghouls

 who stock piranha — grimness into glory's creek

 to devour the innocence of nature's schools,

 despite what common man is keyed to seek.

 

 Coiled in his soggy home for another quiet night,

 he picks a star, once a foxhole mate, now  eternal light.

 

 His eyes squeeze shut; he fears the dawn

 when yawns the thunderous valley of death

 asserting terror by explosive brawn

 as the squad undaunted mid the dying breath

 regains the bloody river bank it lost

 to defenders of home and wretched land,

 pledged to die despite the odds and cost

 for what we once were proud to understand.

 

 

 

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