The Great Fight Wars


The castle kingdoms fall from skies, at the aftermath of the war we fought

the swing of the tounsils; the art of war, the fog-of-war was our kinsmen, in the form of a shield to bloat out our enemies…Little did we know that there was no war, for our minds were laying siege to everything around us.

Our gunfire was at our own livers, our sword thrusts pierced the frozen mirror in front of us; bleak, desolate, like when the dystopian takes full circle–

like when we lift our heads; a soldier of war breaking from the thousand-yard stare, and–

all around us lies only our own destruction.


The Wrath of Winter





The winter is beginning.

The hour is at hand.

The trembling embrace of the snow.

Like a blanket for this land;

the body is the land. The farmer is in for it–

the worst of winter, for the bitterness abroad is bound to take shelter,

like a wanderer or maybe an adventurer.






…forgotten warmth.

…And there it is again,  the song of the bones in overture, and then–

With every 

swing of the clock’s crimson arm.

Winter becomes bearable; even in the midst of its revenge–

Copyrightcopyright April 17, 2019

Catching Fire


Peace that floats like a butterfly over the network.

The soul like a bird swinging a crown across the aether–

the voice of him, her, them, you–

the sound of a fidgeting harpies’ battle cry for us all;

her hair is the swinging embrace of fate, amidst the beckoning sun over air;

the overture of fate without wings to fly, is a falling heartbeat across one’s watching eyes,

the face blushing with joy for the morning, and the air thrusted up the nostrils of the wandering,

peace be the swing of souls over souls, the eyes bid watch–

and the heartbeats of curious veins are lost, in the wonderland upon us.

Is it this dystopia that bids you anew in this world?

Or the pale sunlight across our skies, where the clouds float ominously? See them glide?

See the frost along the silver line?

The coldness in your voice, is the coldness in the air. Breathing in this man’s breathing air; despair is despair.

The golden sun is a glowing orb. Catch it with your hands.

The wandering ghosts of freedom in our country, catch it too with your hands.

Copyrightcopyright March 20, 2019

Regnum Bella (Kingdom Wars)


And in the castle, there lies the walls;

forged by the blacksmith of buildings, the mortar embraces the wind-

the wind is a businessman, shaking hands with the settlement’s structures–

the way the earth’s ground snuggles the ancient old pavement still;

like a newborn with their mother–

the clouds go to circle around the rook, and the watchtower greets the skies;

the way a sturdy building hit by a country’s enemies ground-zeros;

the earth’s moss covers over any demise–

Copyrightcopyright March 2, 2019

Battleships Deployed From Elysium


And it is all’s fair in love and war;

just as it was before–

the tanks swinging opera across the suburbs;

the buildings lifting upward into the skies;

like falling up–

to greet the sunlight of the dystopian light;

the soldiers jumping rooftop to rooftop, creating craters into the ground with their stance;

a sixpence is equal to war;

and to look behind you would be a death sentence–

the floating planes;

a dogfight gathers ‘cross the skies;

and The Bombs of Fate falling down upon–

it’s like a volley of wrath upon our eyes;

Copyrightcopyright February 21, 2019

The Wandering Daylight


The umbra shade;

a masquerade–

the face, a formless flesh;

there is no crevasse–

only an imprint;

a husk of its former self;

it’s where the mother maiden’s hand, trims her finger’s ‘cross–

like a warden with a baton ‘cross the jail cells–

and the skies above this world below;

a dystopian soul–

remnants of our home;

the swinging sun turns to daylight, and;

there is no where else to go–

Dead by daylight and yet reborne again at night we steer the sun in our direction;

Knights! We the survivors of the brigade ‘gainst us unleashed. The hour at the campsite of a frolicking wind, a derby forth;

and mankind together into the fray of anything shone at its source;

a knight is a knight entered ‘cross this inevitable blight–

Copyrightcopyright February 20, 2019