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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #2148187
The power to wage world war or the power to gain material things violently if one is poor.

the sun plays with darkness stabbing and jabbing in departure
black unwinds, stretching,encompassing, a creeping abyss
stillness has one hand on the wheel

the dark is glassy as the water's reflection is clear
striking shallow sweet a place of waking phantoms
perched in the black near a shadows place

man kneels in grace
he is hammer for the god's of war
creating his place with a hum and rattle

time is man's finest driven enemy
a flash in the sky
we fall and fly lost inside our own battle cry

hammer on metal produces this metallic sound
agony’s pleasure just beyond
again and over the echo resounds

it calls us home while blinding us profound
a cue recurs flowing slow,
passing over our ears in a clear place to set a crown

quicker than quick we are controlled by a finger on the trigger
Chosen for one but all ages can be a player
the rules have come undone to beat a new order

a train jumps the tracks
a chain snaps back releasing a bullet named terror
this bedlam competes with the sound of conflict

in a place found just past bliss's hitch
tattooed with metals ink
my engraved skin feels pains true kiss

thunder is envious of lightnings perfect hit
hammer on metal
as the gods crack their whip

Terry D'Arcy-Ryan
© Copyright 2018 SheerTerror (terrydarcyryan at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2148187