Every morning dragging yourself out
Convincing yourself to fight another day
But as you walk into the field of battle
You know there’ll be hell to pay
A brief respite, then over the trench
Into the land no man owns
Every second you feel the urge
To turn around and go home
Sharp chimes mark the maneuvers
They come in uniform time
Rushing from one place to the next
To disobey them is a crime
All the soldiers seem like they’re allied
But they all have their own int’rests in mind
When you’re running on the field of battle
It’s everyone for themselves, you’ll find
Performing complex operations
Dashing across the minefield
Officers barking directions at you
And shooting you down if you yield
The fight doesn’t take your life
But sometimes you just wonder why
Why you don’t just simply give up
And just take a few pills and die
But always remember the deadline
Two or four years and you’re done
Then you can leave the field of battle
And turn towards the rising sun
You’ll find yourself stronger for fighting
Though it was hell while you were there
The field of battle is a harsh teacher
But in the end you’ll find it was fair
Another day, another paycheck.
Sitting amongst the wound-filled corpses, a hooded man lit up a cigarette. For a second, his face young yet grim, could be seen in the light.
He did not respond as a pair of footsteps approached. Even as he heard the brandishing of a blade behind him, he sat still.
And when the blade’s edge appeared at his throat, he didn’t blink.
A voice chuckled. “Good work, bud,” it said in a thick Jersey accent. The blade dropped onto the ground in front of him, and he put it back in its sheath.
Sitting next to him, the businessman crossed his legs and pulled a check from a suit pocket. “500 USD, as promised, for this batch of rebels. Incidentally, I hear the monarchy’s faring much better in the war now. I wonder why.”
Wordlessly, the mercenary stood up and walked off. The businessman groaned and said, “What? Don’t even have time for ol’ Pops anymore?”
Slowly, the young man came to a stop. “This is for her, not you.”
“And do you think she would want this? Would wanna see her son butchering folks like a slasher film?”
“We’ll learn the answer when she’s alive again.” Then he turned his back to his former father and walked off into the wastes.
Help me! I’m lost, I’m rather quite aghast,
I need to write stories and do it fast!
But no matter how I think, ramble, or curse,
No writing gets done, and my mindset gets worse!
How can I escape this quicksand I’ve made?
How can I make sure the bricks of words are laid?
I know! The internet has all that I need,
I’ll look up some tips and get going with speed!
This website should be of help in my goal,
It’s full of content; I’ll be on a roll!
Oh, but there’s an album of cat photos here…
Maybe I’ll browse a few, to lessen my fear.
But what breed are they, and how are they raised?
Oh, they’re Russian blues? Wow, I’m quite amazed!
Cats are incredible, I need to know more!
I just want to go out to the nearest pet store!
But wait, I don’t think I have any dough…
I think I can learn how to make some, though!
Entrepreneurship? Now that’s it for me.
With all my cash, I’ll be laughing in glee!
But what’s this thing now, it says “liquidize”?
I don’t recognize what’s in front of my eyes!
That’s no good, but there’s a thing for us,
Who don’t know their words – the great thesaurus!
Goodness, all these words gladden and inspire,
Now, I want to reach out to something higher!
I’ve changed my mind, my future would be brighter,
If I just went ahead and became a writer!
But there’s one question that leaves me aghast:
How do I write stories and do it fast?
My errors haunt me in the dead of night
Insisting themselves upon my frail form
So even whenever I do my best to fight
They crawl in my mind like a swarm of worms
Always they haunt me, even in the day
Keeling in pain at the thought of my mistakes
Even as I try to learn from each day
Sharp stabs of pain claw at my head like rakes
So I’ll just keep on making mistakes…
Always being concerned doesn’t ever fare great
However, I just know listlessness means nobles only perish
Quivering rationally, standing tall unlike villains
Wary xenophobes yell, “Zeppelins!”
Tents Unlike Vents
What makes a tent quite unlike a vent?
Well, in vents things go out; in tents things go in.
But what if there’s more to my theory than wind?
I’ll tell what I see and what I meant.
Tents give protection from the unknown outside,
While vents introduce the new, cold, and frightening.
But while one may be scared of rain and lightning,
Go out for a bit and I doubt you’ll be fried!
The tents are warm, but also musty and old,
Pent up and stale, with no room for fun.
Vents give you chills that make your mind run,
Giving you thoughts that are creative and bold.
So next time you see a tent in the woods,
Consider just taking in nature’s fresh scent.
And the next time you spy a wintery vent,
Remember that they’re not bad, but quite good!
Does the free bird know its own song’s beauty?
Reaching out with its voice, does it gladly bask?
Miasmatic, it catches every human’s ear,
Fate will draw to it a lovely small birdette.
Somehow, it understands its appeal, and yet,
Laboring, it shows no joy in its song, I fear.
Till humans know more, someone shall always ask,
Does the free bird know its own song’s beauty?
Down from the bed. Across the floor.
Into the hallway. Through the door.
Stand at the sink. Left-right goes the brush.
Don’t think too hard – your brain’s still just mush.
Back to the room and onto the chair.
Into the news to see what’s unfair.
Volume bar goes up, headphones on each ear.
In comes the comfort and out goes the fear.
Food on a plate, now food between lips.
Shirt over shoulders, shorts onto hips.
Phone rings, pick it up. It’s time to go.
Get up, get ready, and don’t be slow.
Look around the room to find all your things.
Your bag and your phone – just silence the rings.
Down two sets of stairs, but it’s not too far.
Mom says goodbye, dad’s outside in the car.