The Human Condition

Walking on into a field

Where blood has been spilt

Soldiers have bayoneted one another

Bullets have teared and ripped skin

Lances have pierced and run down many men

Horses have trampled faces into the ground

Swords have butchered flesh

Cannons have spread body parts into beautiful artworks

Dogs have feasted upon terrified foxes

Young women have bled here in painful solitude

Men have cut themselves raw

Shell shock

Bombs

Gas

Hysterical laughter

Graveyards

Screams

Maggots

Angels and demons

The bible

The grass is red, so, so red

The Devil is here

And he has been fed

 

The Deal I have with Queen Bee

I’m walking on a bridge

Made of ivy vines

Each step

Lets out a hiss, releasing

clouds of pollen into the air

The bees soak it up

Like natures sponges

There are hives

Hidden directly beneath the bridge

The bees are clever

 

I keep walking

Till I meet the Queen Bee

We sit down and sip tea together

Discussing politics

And the weather

I cut to the chase

“So, where is the honey?”

I see her breaking down into fits of tears

I am numb to her pain

Reluctantly, she points to wheelbarrows

Full of jars of honey

I walk them back

One by one

Over the bridge made of ivy

Feeling the hatred

From the many eyes of the bees

Hovering, very close

An Artist

 

A broken down building

With broken, heartfelt art

A man sits alone

In his world

His two cats

Give him what he needs

While he gives in to what he wants

Scratching paint with a stick

Clawing, raking with his nails

Deep into the canvas

His art screams help

But he is happy with his lot

The eyes of a sensitive man

Twitching with pain

From a life

That has been too much

My Guitar

I whack the strings of my guitar

So hard

That it may produce sound

If I beg it

Please let out music that people will like

Please make me a somebody

Please sound good

Maybe it will listen

I beat it so hard

That it’s irreparable

So, I go to town

And buy a new one

 

 

Last Ditch Attempt

A prison holds me

Not a small cell

With bars, locks or keys

But a body

Made of weak flesh

That locks me in

 

I’ve tried to escape

Numerous times

Through pills, drinks

Women and music

Books

 

But it does nothing

So in a last attempt

I raise a hammer to my forehead

Repeatadly cracking open my skull