Flame and blood mix, and thus they become flesh.
you can feel a drumbeat deep within your chest.
Fruits of labour, fruits of sloth.
The stomach starves, the heart beats on.
The heart starves, the stomach feasts,
As the flesh becomes the meat.
A fakeness of the mind, competition made with blood.
Sour candy marks the pain, the sugar within stuffed.
Stuffed within the cloth, stuffed inside the folds.
Proteins of the neurons begin to lose their hold.
The fire lies, and through its eyes, you see its falseness as pure truth.
Careful not to stare too long, lest it become you.
Wars and blood and drought and flood
Forty days of crying.
Wind and steel and seaside breeze
And forty nights of lying
The snake sleeps and the dove weeps
The angel's wings are singing
But in the midst of hidden trees,
A man's ribcage is bleeding.
Water, sea, garlic brine
Infused oils to soothe your spine
Ribs are bruised and one is missing
A newborn child is quickly bleeding.
Oozing blood and oozing words
Serpents have the servants lured
The child's ribs are not its own
A scar upon the mother's breastbone.
Wish upon a wishbone star,
Oozing starlight, soon to scar.
The lacerations sink quite deep
The baby's blood continues to seep.
Sleep, young child, rest your head.
Your father's lost his ribs, he's dead.
His body circled 'round by crows,
His punishment for hoarding bones.
The seed was planted long ago.
The thornbush is hollow.
Hallowed be the rose it grows,
Hallowed be the tree beside it.
Hallowed be the blood
That spills from greedy hands.
The soil is empty, yet the thorns refuse to rot.
One question remains:
Why?
The dirt gives no answers.
Blurred lights, car headlights,
Bus shake and headache.
Blood spill and brain kill,
Eyes unfocused with hocus pocus.
Small and red, both it and I,
Same as robins in the sky.
O King of the Thornbush, take me deep,
Lay my fearful heart to sleep.
A butcher, a knifer, a render of flesh.
Boil it all, damn it all, leave it to the pests.
Damn me Terra, let me rot
Smite me for the spite I've wrought
Pennies for pennance and runes and spells,
Damn it all, O Mother Hell!
Ashes in the dirt,
Fires in the dust.
Blood and burns and yellow stones
Are lost within the flood.
Forty days of dawn,
And forty nights of dusk.
We watch the clouds, we watch the sky,
We watch the embers as they fly,
We hear the wind, we heard the ground,
We hear the wolves' distended growls.
Ashes in the blame,
And flames inside the rust.
Oxidized metal and blood,
And coughing, singing birds.
A penny for your thoughts,
A dollar to follow.
Two cents to chip in
As the lights turned out.
The de facto king,
Recognized by no nobility, yet he reigns.
Zeus smites those who remain,
The lions eat the rest.
Watch as the blood drips from your head.
Drink it up, lap at the holy water,
As does a dog, a wounded dog.
Perhaps even a dog can be king.
These are some of the first poems I ever wrote, back when I was 12. They're a series of poems telling the story of the world, written by one poet in said world. They're a bit scuffed, but they're near and dear to my heart, and I hope you enjoy seeing some of this preteen poetry.
Whilst the mountaintops are high
Whilst the peoples are in the sky
The strange creatures on the ground
Are trying to learn to fly
How silly they are
To even try
They are low
They may not fly
We rule
Us in the sky
Those silly creatures
Will never fly
Rivers of gold
Flowing gold
Bent into statues
Bent by a mold
The ground people try
Desperately try
To turn lead into gold
Simply put, why?
We can make gold
With a simple small thought
They think it's a process
It truly is not
Gold, gold,
Rivers of gold
A golden coin
A golden bow
A golden boat
To sail
The golden seas
Golden hail
To show the ground people
We alone prevail
We are stars
Among the stars
We hold gold
We hold Mars
We are golden
We are stars
The ground people love
The diamond mines
They love the work
They love the grind
Diamonds we get
Gold we give
Without the ground people
We could not live
But we will force them
We will hate
And to the ground people
We will not abate
Snowflakes falling
Falling fast
Falling near our homes
Falling till the last
freezing cold
Winter freezing long
Winter freezing everywhere
Until winter is gone
Snowflakes, snowflakes
On the tongues
Of the children
Beneath us
Snowflakes sparkling
In the moonlight
Bright snow crystals
Shining all night
Dipped in ink
A wooden pen
A poem written
Again and again
Worthwhile attention
A thousand words
Golden rivers
Human birds
The sky people rule
Over those on the ground
Gold and diamonds
Are always found
And in these poems
I always think
And I write with a pen
Dipped in ink
Kehechak
All the thoughts
Sleeping in this city
Kehechak
Tie the knot
Don't let it go slipping
Kehechak
Take the stool
These people deserve this
Kehechak
They know not
Of the power they have angered
Kehechak
Very hot
Burning blazing fire
Kehechak
Smell the rot
They'll never go higher
"Kehechak" is more of a song than a poem, but since it was written as a poem first and turned into a song as I first wrote this, I figured I'd put it here. Plus, it was one of the first proper songs I wrote. "Kehechak" doesn't mean anything, at least not to my knowledge. My apologies if it's a rude word in one of your languages. I don't think I ever came up with a meaning for it in the Sky People language or world.