Libradox

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War.

War is the javelin piercing the troubled heartbeats.

The thorn across the mind that ensnares the spirit.

The body is the war; our bodies are the jungle, humanity frolics through the Jungles of War and Ambition.

Ambition fuels rage, passion, lust, temptation.

Ambition is what created America. Ambition creates everything…

But ambition creates destruction. The same people who built the great settlement designed to ensure this breathing man’s freedom, made the same atomic bomb rendered forth to destroy it all.

Our arms like trees rise and fall with our heartbeats.

Our limbs like trunks root and uproot.

Our heads like the clouds swing thoughts, like the frozen cirrus clouds; cold and warmed by the breathing sun.

Shadowed, or embraced by rain.

Rain slumbers in the midst of this man’s fellow mind.

Is it a flood of passion come forth to tremble the light?

The ear is the metronome of flesh for the sound and caverns; this fellow-man’s skull’s interior is equal to the endless caverns the mind wanders through.

Do we serve as our own phantom? Do we play a haunt unto our own bodies–

Are we ghosts inside our own bodies; Do we possess ourselves?

Or does society string us along?

Do we awaken ourselves into the air of our wanting drives?

In the sunflower fields of light, does this fellow man derive.

The nose is the great pillar of us all; embracing the air we thrive.

My eyes the seeing pedestal unto all this fellow of one and many;

humanity in an overture. The chessboard of fate is right there, in us all;

the body is the war; in where lone politicians or perhaps many of the like, search high and lo for Liberty’s Bell.

My fellow good man, our heartbeats play a host to the very ribcage of Liberty’s cell.

Copyrightcopyright April 18, 2019

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Strengthening a Country

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Writers have the ability to take over the world.

All they have to do is write laws that force everyone else to be illiterate.

Writers invented America, kings were taught how to write, even God is a writer; He invented and wrote the Bible. The strength and cosmetic power a pen can hold is undeniable. Barbarians fear the illustrations of dragons scrawled behind on the caves for them, even if they were all imaginary, they fear like everyone else the telegrams sent in letters to us by our future selves

They who write be them male or female invent the race the others must run, but an illiterate country is a warzone inevitable to happen. Which brings us to the second trait that must be known;

Now that we are literate, educated, and are able to write be them male or female, we must also know how to defend ourselves.

Educated, technologically advanced, able to articulate, and can protect themselves from anyone unagreeable as well?

The countries that excel in this will dominate all the other countries, even if the other country is another super power.

Copyrightcopyright March 25, 2019

Regnum Bella (Kingdom Wars)

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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

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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 Earl of Demise

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The swinging hills that speak in a past language;

the art of war, in sign language;

shrugging shoulders, and who cares?

The mindless walking empty despair–

the faces smiling, with a rose across the cheeks;

staring up at the four walls, for weeks and weeks–

the mind is a battlefield, full of relentless fury;

the fury is just your whirlwind of emotions,

amidst a conscience faded and blurry–

blurry like your vision for the future that dips like red paint across your skin and veins;

the once-known and known-once, like an ounce of doubt;

around a shroud-

at the tapestry of dystopia’s midmorning gray–

the cold is cold even when the cold is handed to us in a warm handshake;

the eyelids twitch. The under eyelids fidget;

our corneas tremble the sockets with earthquakes-

And where can one witness man-made quakes? Right there across the goosebumps’ of her arm.

In the middle of a frozen chest called the heart.

A back-stab, is a form of art.

For an earthquake; the room that tremors?

Is just our rage bottling up, with a sweaty despair–

visions of sunflowers fields, with landmines across the playgrounds?

In the air, in the air, and in the air…

Copyrightcopyright February 7, 2019

Warlords

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War is inevitable and can’t be stopped by mortal hands;

This is because the body is the war, and we

bring the battlefield with us.

In our search as politicians to send forth boots on the ground;

we discovered that we are all the ones wearing the boots.

The ribcage the iron bars that imprison the heartbeats of the soul.

The skeleton the jailer warden that keeps us from flight.

The skin the barbed wire that not only seals our freedom in;

but keeps others from entering our hearts.

The skull is the cage that keeps our thoughts from releasing.

The only place for the battlefield to lay in, is our minds.

Ambition fuels freedom.

Freedom fuels ambition.

The two are like shield brothers;

there is no forest more denser.

Without ambition, there is no drive–

without any drive, there is no purpose.

And it is in this, that we learn ourselves to be the floating orbs;

waltzing through life–

War is like armor worn by the soul;

our essence the fruit;

our spirit the bowl–

Copyrightcopyright January 23, 2019

The Jungle Wars

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The body is the jungle mankind frolics;

The hair on ends, the trees in motion.

The leaves the desires of ambition.

The grass the foundation for decisions.

The braches like arms in air, reaching for temptation.

Our minds are the vessels lost in storm,

Lost in thought; Mankind.

Caught in the rift–

Copyrightcopyright January 10, 2019