Raided

A crack that was once sealed

Tears open in my heart

The unnamed creatures pour out

Winged, finned

Thousand legged

Thousand eyes

Countless monsters

Wreak havoc in my body

They pull at my heart strings

They cement my thoughts

They dry my skin

Scratching behind my eyes

With their claws

Their laughter

Denies me any focus

I once had

I let their destructive rage

Continue

Until they tire

And go home

I re-seal the crack

To begin repairs on my body

 

The Creature of the Trench

He walks over the top of the muddy trench

The stench of gunpowder, mud and rot

Pervades his nose

The voices around him

Build a slow, steady crescendo

Piercing screams

Wailing and crying

Are all added to the orchestra

 

The man walks steadily on

His feet, moist

Most likely webbed by now

A creature of the trench

 

The crescendo is building

Louder and louder

The man slips on the mud

Falling and entangling himself

In a web of barbed wire

A small fly, helplessly caught

 

Men of both sides wander the field, aimlessly

Cloaked in a pale white

The bullets go straight through them

 

The crescendo is coming to an end

A german machine gun nest has spotted the fly

The crescendo reaches the climax

All the men in white are watching

The fly has been shot repeatedly by the spiders

The bullets thud like a drum

Against the chest of the Englishman

The Russian Man

LaOPAWr

Led through a Finnish forest

The slow, ankle high, crunching underfoot

A russian man, unnamed, laughing

With such peace in his heart

It almost feels warmer

He knows what is coming

The war will finally end when he is gone

At least, for him

He accepts the death that awaits them all

Thinking through his life

His mother and father

Smiling at him through a window

Waving goodbye

His little sister

Playing with her toy doll

Near the fireplace

Singing songs with his friends by a bonfire

Getting drunk for the first time

Vommiting violently after drinking games

Laying with his sweetheart in bed

Letting the hours fly on by

Staring into her eyes

The Finnish man readies his pistol

Raising it to his forehead

The Russian man still laughing

Lost in his memories

 

The blood seeps deep into the snow

 

 

 

 

A Samurai’s Tsunami

Helmet of insect horn

Armour made as hard as ants

Mask crafted by demons

Deep in their seven hells

And a long sword

Restrained within it’s scabbard

Smithed from the smoothest of waters

Calm yet vicious

He releases it

Upon his foes

It’s waves hit enemy after enemy

A relentless tsunami

His dead opponents

Hang from his sword

Adding their weight to it

A ghastly gift

Each wave harder to send

But hitting even stronger

Wanting their blood to mingle

Within its shores

Sometimes when father lets me

Touch his sword

I can hear them all moan in unison

Begging for more blood