The stuffed men
I
We are the men stuffed with what
society needs us to be
and when the government draws the strings
we jump; we obey against our own will,
we are the stuffed men who were taught
lethal skills to be turned on and off
like mere machines
to be unleashed against a enemy
consisting out of other men
and our lives, our own humanity
to the government is totally meaningless.
II
We were shaped and formed
and forced into military training camps
into a stark cohesion
where the individual soul perishes
and the group reigns supreme
where those who goes into eternity,
goes into death, knows us
as if we are some of them
where violence, killing is measured out
by great and sincere men
who like rag dolls are stuffed,
like marionettes have to obey
the commands given to them.
III
In dreams there are eyes that we avoid,
situations that reoccur,
the stark reality of living
after others have perished
and reliving through the slaughter of war
as if we were made for greater things
and have eternal difficulty to comprehend
sending men to their end
and voices, screams, events, people and places
stays with us
and the pain, the desolation
return in dreams
as if they are trying to draw us to the kingdom
where death reigns supreme.
IV
The battlefields remain,
where from burial trenches
images rise, where shot-out tanks
armoured cars and weapons of war
that were destroyed are nothing more
than rusting metal coffins
left in the wind and rain
and forever remain as testimony
of the cruelty of man
under the lonely stars of the Southern Cross
and these places are now left alone
are only visited by wild animals
digging up the bones of killed men
to gnaw on them.
V
But we are destined to return
in memories, in thoughts and ultra realistic dreams
to these valleys of death and desolation,
to the bushy plains
where corpses lie as skeletons
and eyeless gaze at the setting sun
as if these are the last places
where we meet with the effect
of the deeds that we were forced
to participate in
and in this world of sin
the stars of the Southern Cross
seems to give direction
to another world beyond
and not just to determining
how to go north.
[Reference: The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
There’s an anarchic element in me
There’s an anarchic element in me,
an opposition to government,
a aversion to control, preaching disorder
coming from being forced into the military,
being forced in subjection
to order and discipline
forced to kill
ignoring your beliefs, forced to buckle to
the demands of society
to learn lethal skills, against your will
and ignoring the impact
as if you as a human being
is just another machine
that can be turned on and off
and are ready for use for political ends
and I am not wanting to participate in RICA
where big brother wants your name,
address that accompanies your cellular phone number
as if the government wants to control sanity and peace
being a exile against it, wanting isolation and freedom
from government and it agencies
which deal with you with atrophy
as if not geared to meet expectations
in a obverse phase with indifference
as if you are just another meaningless human being.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Here I am, a man that is world-weary (in answer to T.S. Eliot)
I
Here I am, a man that is world-weary,
in a month without rain
and passion and the pain
are still aflame and burning in me.
At the gates of death, destruction and desolation
I did in my youth trod
fired a rifle, a canon and whatever gun in angry shot
and then had a obligation
II
to be true to my country, to be true to you
but now I am getting weary
while life is slowly getting eerie
as if it’s coming to an end, as if I have lost the glue
that has hold my body and my spirit together
and whatever waits in the new day
is coming from the hand of the new government to bother
my fellow countrymen and I and still God do I obey.
II
We live in times of signs and wonders
in the technological new age,
but my fellow men is at rage
as if they are getting orders
that is swaddled in darkness
to maim, to rob and kill
driving every white man to the edge of the abyss
as if it is to them an immense thrill
III
but still there are many blessings
flowing from the hand of God
that I, this poor sod
of a human being see every day in my awakening
and with careful hands
we try to build a future
but I feel like an old horse led to the pasture
in a place of pitiless lands
IV
and from shoelaces we build
try and produce something great
as if we are masters of some or other guild
knowing that time is running out and we cannot wait
in a world where this knowledge
is not comprehended by everyone
where the world of yesterday is totally gone,
we try to earn a living and to live on standing at the edge
V
of a darkening abyss
and with courage, without any fear
we see the new morning drawing near
as if it is
the age and time that a whole nation has waited on
and while the battle begins we comprehend that the fighting
is not left to us alone and that it’s spreading
from the very hand of God, that His armies are marching on
VI
and the thousand thoughts and small deliberations
will not lead us to victory
nor any arms we take up in our iniquity
as we are only mere men in His mighty considerations
with love and understanding and in truth
we have to wait on His salvation
coming to our wrecked nation
and every one even the youth
VII
have got to comprehend
that the battle will in due time
draw to an end
that in this world of hardship and crime,
salvation will be coming from a power supreme and divine
and that His righteousness is overpowering
even in impossible situations still conquering
and that His covenant stays through time without any decline.
[Reference: Gerontion by T.S. Eliot.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The road ahead dissolved into dust
The road ahead dissolved into dust
and we could not see the track
nor any of the other fighting vehicles
consisting out of Olifant main battle tanks
and Ratel armoured cars that were ahead of us.
Bushes were covering the veldt
on all sides and around us,
the early morning fog
had drifted over from the river
and worse still tried to cover things
and in the distance I heard the cannon
of a enemy tank blasting off a projectile
and almost felt the impact hitting us,
but it shrieked past
and at speed we left the track
rammed through some bushes
and the Ratel-90 armoured car
draw to a halt
and our return shot
found its mark
and we had to take another one
to make dead sure
of the destruction
of the Russian manufactured T-55 tank
before speeding away
trying to avoid being hit
and found another target
and one more and another after that
and later even filling the night
with bright flashing canon flame,
sending death out with projectiles
to whichever enemy that we found.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Phantoms in my dreams
Another river flooded with blood
with thousands of enemy soldiers
wiped out, as if their lives
mattered not to man.
Almost a hundred tanks shot out,
more than three hundred
armoured cars destroyed
and some tanks,
(more than the fingers
on my hands)
just left behind
with the occupants running away
to hide in the veldt
and to this day
the shocking reality
of that battle scenes
are phantoms in my dreams.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Heart, Body, Soul
My heart yearns to be free,
My body to soar.
My soul to wander,
The world far beyond.
All the people to meet,
With the places to go.
I could travel the stars,
The world is my journey.
I shall go where I please,
I will do as I wish.
Noone dare stop me,
For then I will flee.
I wish to go,
To fly,
To love,
One day no more.
I'll get what I can,
From lifes tiny glore.
Happieness,
And freedom.
I'll travel till my death,
And in death I shall know.
While living I wondered,
So in death I will to.
For never again,
Will my heart remain.
And never again,
Shall my sould stay put.
poem by Brianna Wilshusen
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Undeclared war breaks out and now a winter of despair
Undeclared war breaks out and now a winter of despair
with enemies in great numbers everywhere
with grey clouds blowing in from Cuba, Russia
and thundering the bear growls,
but we have seen some beasts before
our ancestors have fought against a superpower
to a bitter end
and although much fewer of us take
to the battle field than them
with mainly armoured cars against tanks
the inhuman slaughter is of them
and although blood flows for sprouting seed
death claims its toll for life to proceed
and spring is coming with all its speed,
but no victory is ever sweet
and killing leaves its marks indeed,
but all other means would have been in vain
although war leaves its marks of pain
and I would rather have seen
a better life for all of us,
as friends have drank coffee
and smoked a cigar
somewhere in a Cuban café
but reality has no place
for dreamers like me
and liberty at times charges a price.
[Reference: “The results of the campaign up to April 1988 were 4,785 killed on the Cuban/Faplan side, with 94 tanks and hundreds of combat vehicles destroyed, against 31 South Africans killed in action,3 tanks destroyed (SADF tanks entered the war after the Lomba River campaign) and 11 SADF armoured cars and troop carriers lost. A total of 9 Migs were destroyed and only 1 SAAF Mirage shot down.” Jannie Geldenhuys.1994: At the front. P240. Johanthan Ball Publishers.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A woman unconscious
The enemy were almost at the door,
coming with tanks, armoured cars,
rocket launching trucks,
helicopter gunship, fighter jets,
with supporting Cuban troops
under Russian command
and day after day
I prayed for it to end,
for the killing of them, to stop,
where my Ratel armoured car
send tank after tank and many more armoured cars
with phosphorous shells
straight to hell
and by calamity the future changed,
turned into a different world,
changed from the one
scared of them, dropping the annihilating bomb
of millions of people being killed and dead
and at home, the welcoming did not come
at my return
and your were not there,
were killed in a car accident instead,
were for a time unconscious
in a white hospital bed
and the evidence of how cruel
the world can be
still walks with me,
while life goes on.
[Reference: A woman unconscious by Ted Hughes.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Death of Dreams
It’s simple
It’s sad
It’s images I can’t shake
The death of dreams seems so real
So close
It’s cruel
It’s terrible
It’s killing off hope
The death of dreams is real
It’s here
It’s pain
It’s misery
It’s ruining all that has ever been good
The death of dreams fills me up
It’s my own death
It’s horror
It’s tears
It’s the final stab in an already shattered heart
The death of dreams may be gone
But still, it has my soul
poem by Fae Sebastian
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Mark R. Slaughter
Just like the dahlia
Death comes in all its beauty
And so I stroke her petals
Push my feet root-deep
Into the composted soil
As weary clouds unite
Coalesce
Darken through the greys
In preparation
Incontinence prevails
Lachrymose in empathy
They cry for me
Sharing tears
Mortality brings
As twilight closes
I rot
(They fade)
To be the plant
(They'll water)
I, denomination Mark R. Slaughter
Struggle thro' my fantasy
To seal the state of mind
That I of soul
Remain eternal
Back on the windowsill
A daffodil stretches
From a bulbous foot
Flirts like a ballerina
STOPS
Wonders of the world
My cat hears the brassy thoughts
From yellow trumpet
Pricks up his ears
Iridescent eyes
Focussed on the future
I'll wait
For his appraisal
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012
A Trail of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
The night is full of brown Ratel armoured cars
and Olifant tanks
that drives and rolls in on the ground
and salvos from rocket launching trucks
that draws arcs
and in the distance howitzer canon reports
in volleys
and when a light flare suddenly falls
it is as if the bushes are teeming
with enemy tanks and armoured cars
just where I look
and it looks
like the day of judgement.
Projectiles find their targets
and canister-shot comes down exploding thundering
and it’s an apocalyptic night
for some of the enemy
who are burning,
scorched and blown to smithereens in their armour
and when a tank
suddenly appears out of the bushes
there is a hell of a red thunderclap
as a shot from another Ratel hits it deadly
and I realize that even here
a person’s time is measured out
and around me there are fireworks
like stars falling from the sky
while we stop and aim
the following killing shot.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Better It Would Have Been (Sonnet Corona / Crown Of Sonnets)
I
Without you much better it would have been,
if in this wide world under all the skies
I did not know you, I had never seen
the glimmer, the attraction in your eyes.
Better it would have been if I unseen
at the braking of that particular day
joyous, somewhat sincere like a teen
went on another different kind of way,
I would then have totally missed you
as our love, our joy was sealed in vain.
You would not have opportunity to do
things that leave much heartache and pain
as your heart was set in some treachery,
your blunt rebuke was not sought by me.
II
Your blunt rebuke was not sought by me,
yet you gave it to me as if earned,
as if from it I was not to be free,
its impact did hurt and really burned
right into my depths, my heart's inner core
and still I then very much loved you
every day more and even much more
as something very sincere and true
but my Lord I loved more deeper still
as He always dwelled in everything
and I try to live by His very will,
with your love being at times a cursing
and at times there was water on my glasses;
when the wild wind rushes through the grasses.
III
When the wild wind rushes through the grasses,
it is something that you will never see
nor the beauty of the places were it passes
as you can never be really quite free
from the rich earthly things that embraces
you in wantonness, in deep iniquity
and at many different kinds of places
high up on the hill and down in the lea
diamonds adorn grasses and wild flowers
as if nature cries for you and me
as tears of dew that shines, not from showers
while life is how it's determined to be,
when you had chosen a fresh sort of start;
I did not ask you to return my heart.
IV
I did not ask you to return my heart
you have trampled it again and again
and now it would be really just in vain
as it is broken in every part
but now from each other being apart
we live separate lives of joy and pain
and the simple fact does still remain,
it does not take someone really quite smart
to know that when you do not have me
your whole life becomes somewhat mundane,
then you do not really want to be free
and I know that it sounds very inane
but obviously I cannot anymore be
yours in love's strange painful mystery.
V
Yours in love's strange painful mystery
were without any tears and full of glee
but left me totally broken hearted
then I noted after more than fifteen years
that you did not take a last kind of kiss,
from me was taking whatever you could,
had totally forgotten our sweet bliss,
maybe I knew this was the way that it would.
I wish time and again not to have know you
in the way that it ended when you were gone,
while then you had been wickedly untrue
had have intimate sex with someone,
it's sometimes hard to be the only one,
when at night in darkness I lie down alone.
VI
When at night in darkness I lie down alone
the golden moon and all the stars are bright
and some of them to me are quite unknown,
Orion and the seven sisters gleam at night
but life does continually carry on
the morning sun seems at times out of sight
and it is stripped from all affection
but can constantly bring back life and light
to what is still left of my kind of world,
as if everything is falling apart
and in all the things that I do behold
you seem to be somehow the crucial part
as if everything was astray leaden,
as you left me, my life did then deaden.
VII
As you left me, my life did then deaden
as if being tied up and underfed,
walking away, not anymore a maiden,
leaving my heart filled with only dread.
In love I saw you as pure and holy
a mother for children, true to the gods,
but with your lover you acted lowly
as you did cast me away to life's odds
and you have lost all the joyful graces
with the very thoughts of you that remain,
images of your many different faces
are filled to the brim with utter pain
and to meet you again I am not keen,
without you much better it would have been.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Waiting on the barbarians (a reply to C.P. Cavafy)
Called up for armed military service
hundreds of thousands white boys
are forced into a war
of whom I am but a single one
and with all battles won and even the war,
with the enemy forces shattered,
thousands of Cubans killed,
almost a hundred enemy tanks shot out,
hundreds of enemy armoured cars destroyed,
even the soviets admitting that no victory
against us is possible
the man with the bold polished head
doesn’t surrender, doesn’t even sell out,
no, he gives the whole country away
and gets a Nobel Prize for it
he opens the prison doors for the leaders
of bomb planting killers
to walk to freedom
and we and the world expect the barbarians
who used burning tires as necklaces
to appear
and out steps a man, dignified
and also receives a Nobel Prize
for his charity
and now years later the damage is done
with affirmative action
and nobody that is white who still has a job
realizes the impact of it,
that it is just another kind of racial discrimination
and slowly but surely in the long run
every white person is forced to into poverty
and the bold man sees himself
as a hero,
is viewed as a type of messiah by some
and the utmost traitor by others
and I wonder where the barbarians are
who torched living people?
Since they did not come but for one
who was the leader of our own ranks
whose actions are forcing everyone
slowly but surely into the gutter
and now the present government
wants to implement a law
to take away freedom of speech
to quench, to sensor, to scrap all poems all stories,
all news articles like this.
[Reference: Waiting on the Barbarians by C.P. Cavafy.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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On the other side of the Lomba river
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
bad weather hanging on the other side of the Lomba river
with tanks standing ablaze
nothing can stop the war clouds
(while the shots of enemy tanks resound)
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death
and Fapla, Cubans and Russians perish
and we also receive deadly shots.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
where we teach them a final lesson in Africa
when the enemy appear
but olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars are stuck in a landmine field
and howitzer canons fire
at the beginning of the slaughter
with tanks standing ablaze
and there are olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars disappearing in the bush
with rockets raining down
when the enemy appear
which rip enemy weaponry into pieces
and division after division comes under restraint.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
and the canons of howitzers, tanks and armoured cars fire continuously
while the smell of death is everywhere
with rockets raining down
with few enemy being still alive,
with some leaving intact tanks, fleeing to survive
with tanks standing ablaze
and I am conscious of the inhumanity
and feelings of powerlessness
while the smell of death is everywhere
and the slaughter goes on and on
and human life isn’t important.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
with tanks standing ablaze
and whatever you do or mean
nothing can stop the war clouds
and feelings of powerlessness
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Everybody’s Breath
In this fragile life,
I burn candles
In the incense room.
I utter prayers
In secret places
For gentle souls.
I return with my memories
To joyful times
And forget unpleasant thoughts.
There will be coffins
To gaze into
And one in which to lie,
But I cherish everybody’s breath
And know we’ve gained more in living
Than we’ll ever lose in death.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Totally Lost
I
With someone new to adore,
you are constantly
haunting me
as if at times you can penetrate through death
but sometimes I know that I am fabricating it
and for years you are out of my life
but sometimes I cannot get you out of my thoughts
before you jump into my heart again
as if you are not peaceful
on the other side
and in my sorrow and in life's coldness
I am stranded here
and you find no kind of relief
in the late night's big silence.
II
In the late night's big silence
my thoughts are at times with you,
while the big separation brings a chill
while I keep clinging to memories.
You are much too far from me
and your whole humanity
cannot stay here,
and it appears at times when I read your old letters,
when you are like a flower to me
that could grow in the earth of my soul
but death has divided us
and untimely you were pruned away in your prime
and still your absence cuts through me like a raw cry,
sometimes it's much better not to know about you.
III
Sometimes it's much better not to know about you,
to totally wipe out that which was between us
to forget the memories and passion
as if nothing had been
to cause your presence to eternally fade away,
to let each memory slowly pine away,
to stop me from daring in my dreams
to search for you to appear
and I am in a world where yours are divided from mine,
where I have got to keep to the here and now,
where I have to know that we are in separate places
and I am aware of this reality
that destiny cruelly rips lives apart with her claws;
my whole world was where you went
IV
My whole world was where you went
and in you I found my rest and joy
while you were with me as my darling
but life had devoured it far too suddenly
while my existence was anchored to you,
while our things was limitless deep
and we both were trusting on God
while now alone I search for answers,
where without you I see a new tomorrow,
while suddenly pain cuts unexpectedly through me
and I in despair try to cling
to the little that remain of you
and forever we are separate from each other,
you are buried in your coffin and I know sorrow.
V
You are buried in your coffin and I know sorrow
and no stranger asks about you or walks past,
there are people dressed in black
everywhere in the church around me
and everyone is disenchanted
where they are mourning
and it's as if nothing can break through the darkness
that appears about you a pretty girl, already a woman
and suddenly the minister starts talking at the front,
the sexton walks to the back and asks: 'who is lying here? '
his voice resounds through the whole church
and he gets no answer.
The service passes much too quickly;
I feel like I can fight against God.
VI
I feel like I can fight against God,
I cannot really know,
why some people lead longer lives
and for others life is measured out into darkness,
still less I know for what I am searching,
something stays just out of my reach
as if it is involved with the things that are happening
and just when I look it's already gone,
it's just beyond the bright blue
as if I am living with an incomplete purpose
where I am almost seeing it, it's almost in my thoughts
but I cannot see or feel it
and I know that something terrible is wrong,
where everything eventually becomes chaos.
VII
Where everything eventually becomes chaos,
where the whole world are waiting on disintegration,
I wonder what makes me languish
for new life, for the rain that pours down?
What lets me hope that very soon
a glorious age, a glorious day will appear
on the other side of the dark night
while everything around me with time collapses?
Now I hope to have someone else again,
that your life and hours of pain disappear
and again I want to begin with someone anew,
while I stay trusting that the answers lie in the hands of God,
while I believe that the sun will shine on me again
with someone new to adore.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Lonely Thespian
This darkness comes over me,
assaulting with stark reality,
like a tree in the field
alone and stripped of its shield.
When the rain clouds have left,
I was a victim of a theft,
forced to be part of a thespian,
playing out my retrogression.
I'm forced to watch myself,
he's forced to burden himself,
a broken lock holds back my violence,
as I cause only silence.
I sit by the river,
and I start to shiver,
contemplating my mistakes,
wishing from reality to awake.
My mind cannot focus,
my heart, eaten by locusts,
my mind feels so alone,
my heart like dust has been blown.
Love for me is naught,
the lady with death's water is fraught,
my friends want to kill me,
fear and distrust have become a sea.
Why is my world full of hate?
Has this been the work of fate?
My failure makes me tremble and shake,
how can everybody be so fake?
This loneliness is my dark cave,
maybe death will make me brave.
poem by Soren Valentine
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My buddies (a reply to Boris Slutsky)
All young white men at a time
was forced into the military, into war
or had to serve a three year jail term
and most of my buddies came home,
but some did not:
Parachuting into a enemy camp
there was one close friend that died,
the other three I hardly knew
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
seven hundred and fifty
enemy SWAPO and Cuban casualties
and on one patrol one close buddy
stepped on a landmine
were blown up and no one else was hurt,
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
the enemy that had lost
little lest than a full platoon.
In Angola when we met enemy armour,
turned FAPLA / Cuban divisions
under Soviet leadership into junk
I saw a Ratel armoured car
that was trapped in a landmine field
that had been shot out
with the holes
were enemy tank projectiles went in
and every one inside was burnt, incinerated
if not blown to bits, turned into ash
and it had been only one of eleven
armoured cars
and troop carriers that was lost
some of only thirty-one soldiers dead
but there was pain that flashed through me
when I saw it
and to the government it was
an incidental small thing against
four thousand seven hundred and eighty five killed
on the Cuban/FAPLAN side,94 tanks
and hundreds of enemy combat vehicles destroyed
and now no one thinks
of the sacrifice that all of these soldiers made,
of the hundreds of thousands
of returning citizen force soldiers
who were nuts, bomb happy
with post traumatic stress syndrome
or whatever you want to call it
as to the government it is
an incidental small thing,
that happened in a distant past
as if the ex-soldiers are non-existing,
even seen as apartheid criminals by some.
[References: Buddies here used as name used in the South African Defence Force for comrades. Ex-soldiers here used instead of war veterans, as in African circles the word war veterans has got a new derogatory meaning connected to it. My Comrades by Boris Slutsky.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Because I do not wish to hope again
I
Because I do not wish to hope again,
to like an eagle spread my wings,
because I do not wish to gain
experience and to learn new things
and do not wish to soar up against the blue sky,
wondering what lies
beyond the scope of the vision of an eye
and with time in me all hope dies
why should I be afraid
when the darkness closes in,
when destiny has knotted my life in its braid
and I do not know what comes with the new morning?
II
Because am not the man I used to be
and the things of my youth now is of no interest
with age taking effect of my body
drawing me closer to the place of eternal rest
and on the other side of the beyond
there’s only darkness that I see
and to this ageing body I am bound with life’s bond
that is slowly leaving me
when the reality of life in death makes me aware
that life is only transitory,
that destiny has its impact everywhere
then as a tired man I still lift my eye to God in His glory.
III
Because the moments of tranquillity
have left me as if they have never been
and I am now enfolded in fragility
as if my eyes have never seen
the greatness beaconing on the other side of the beyond
as if no word or deed from me will last into eternity
as if no beauty, greatness I have found
or left a mark of my integrity or sincerity
I wonder what the reason for living is,
have difficulty to comprehend
what life holds
what pain, fear, joy and bliss
brings before the last of my life is spent?
IV
Because I know that time is running out,
that even a newborn child is bound to destiny
and it feels as if it’s no use to beg, pray or shout
as every single human being is covered in iniquity
I am left to pray to God for His mercy
and ask Him to let me forget the dreams, the plans and hope
that was once mine, and every single fallacy
that as a human being once did envelop
my mind, my heart and when His righteous judgement falls
may it be lenient as there is no way to live again
and deeds and words well meant become spent when death calls
as every human being is destined to walk the darkening plain
l’Envoi
to at an allotted time expected or unexpected depart from life
and even from the time of birth
the seeds of disaster and strive
are build into every human being living on this earth
and therefore I pray to meet You Lord
to experience the depth of your love
as is promised in Your eternal word
lifting my eyes to You who reign from above.
[Reference: Ash-Wednesday: I. “Because I do not hope to turn again” by T. S. Eliot.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sceletons Of Society
Minutes seem like days
Since fire ruled the sky
The rich became the beggars
And the fools became the wise
Memories linger in my brain
Of burning from the acid rain
A pain I never have won
Nothing here remains
No future and no past
No one could foresee
The end that came so fast
Hear the prophet make his guess
That paradise lies to the west
So join his quest for the sun
Shades of death are all I see
Fragments of what used to be
The world slowly decays
Destruction fills my eyes
Harboring the image
Of a spiraling demise
Burning winds release they fury
Simulating judge and jury
Drifting flurries of pain
Deafening silence reigns
As twilight fills the sky
Eventual supremacy
Daylight waits to die
Darkness always calls my name
A pawn in this recurring game
Humanity going insane
Shades of death are all I see
Fragments of what used to be
Minutes seem like days
Corrosion fills the sky
Morbid dreams of anarchy
Brought judgement in disguise
Memories linger in my brain
Life with nothing more to gain
Perpetual madness remains
Shades of death are all I see
Skeletons of society
Fragments of what used to be
Skeletons of society
song performed by by Slayer from Seasons In The Abyss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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