Hope?

He runs across the battlefield,
Fresh soot in his eyes.
As he goes, he will not falter,
At war since morn's sunrise.

Deafening sounds get caught by his ears,
A saddened expression washed his face.
As the images of friends no more,
Lie scattered across the floor.

She sat by her fire,

Brooding of the moor.

Where they used to speak their hearts,

Hoped they'd be together sooner.

A love untold,

Yet always attested.

Ambition's drive pulled more than needed,

Rejuvenation had no hope.

Upon his arms, upon the weight,

Of arms to protect him;

Lies the weight of the arduous struggle,

The futile fight to stay alive.

She holds her gun against her head,

And hopes she isn't.

For certainly, he'd be dead by now,

So they'd be together again before long.

A gunshot rings across the field,

Louder than the others.

And though apart the peaceful faces,

On the corpses of the lovers.

Peace?

Atop the ledge of confusion,
I sit strong to brood.
Falters and errors do contort
As so does this deviating mood.

Until the unachievable,
Most talked about impossibility.
We shall bleed.
And we shall die.
Before we know the world.

The monuments of glory,
The monuments of the sacrifice.

I engage myself in turbulence.

Confined?

You weave your ensemble in the grandeur of your intangibility,
Engrossed in infinite ideal shooting stars.
In the night sky, over the bazaar.
Bizarre.

Munificent outlines,
But that does not suffice.
Your pardon will be granted,
Teeth and eyes and nails, your hammer over an outstretched blanket of ice.

That was just an illusion,
You dress up to digress.
And as you go on your way,
to disappoint.

You left your crest in the mess, I confess.

You were wrong all along.

Well?

Importunation, now evaluation.
For the better.
In the midst of day's musk,
We muse; judge our character.
And right wrongs.

We ascend our self-grafted destruction;
To place our heads in their arms.
So they may bestow upon us their ingratitude,
And shield us from fleeting charms.

But still I breathe no air,
Because I have breathed too much.
And I march onwards.
I march onwards to such.

Will I die?

I Don't Remember The Name Of This 2 Year Old Poem.

Walk down the lane of emotion,
The dust covers footprints of old.
Surrounded by gardens of souls,
Growing, in fields of gold.

Flowers speak words everywhere,
Spilling out secrets of men.
Lies to make up for theft,
Traps set in treason's den.

Red is the waistcoat of love,
Black is the shell covered hate.
Grey are the clouds of misfortune,
Shadowed, the will to create.
White are the seas of forgiveness,
Blue are the tears wept with sorrow.
Silver, the outcome of riches,
Gold, the true colour of the poor.

Dreams are the windows of hope.
Words, the foundation of truth.
Faith is the base built for wisdom,
Belief in the eyes of the youth.

War, the enemy of humanity,
Peace, the friend of mankind.
Lies, the base built for hate,
Lost, the true states of mind.

Sprout, you flowers of emotion,
Walk, you ageless trees.
Wait for them lies to decay,
And pray.

Fall down on your knees.

The Train

And I see sand.
Barren ground like,
Hearts grown blind to evidence.
Now, open up your eyes.

And the end does draw nearer,
But I am just beginning.

Unfold your mind.
The brushed metal from this rail.
Home to your oil.
Stain and stain and stain and stain.

Where have you gone?

There's no set destination.
Except an answer.

Look around you.
There's simply no-one at all.

Evidence staring at you.
And you staring at green lands.

Courage?

A footstop falls.
Breaking the silence.
Shattering the signature of secrets.

And ever-dwindling is the present,
Ever-remembered the past.
The future, ever-uncertain,
But the arduous struggle onwards rages on.

Sound. A belonging. A longing.
Sight. A longing. A need.
Hurt. A pain. A must.
Growth. A must. A need.

We're all afraid of what we don't understand.
Yet there's always an explanation.
And to conquer,
On we ride.

And to achieve,
On we ride.