Poetry By
Brandon Nolta
Published on: 9/22/2011
To Seed The Darkness
awake, alive despite the button I press again and again six times an hour, more feeling bone bubble and char skin tight pain dry eyes in the desert of sickness now and then this fire abates or nurse gooses the line so I sleep in darkness bitter and edged galaxies of fire and dread in the threaded black I can remember from heat comes light from light comes energy then life and on every supernova flare carries heavier light of elements we are our spectrums were formed in the dying of giants when thoughts clear I remember life, loved ones but even in feverish fading I know that I have seeded the stars beyond me in the black beguiling I gather hydrogen fetters preparing to blaze
Published on: 9/22/2011
Terraqueous
We learned their tongues, their screeches of disarray Long before they ventured into the deepened miles From the heights of iron silence Our songs rang out, our overtures filled the sea For countless turnings of the tide and sky, for naught We thought them deaf and silenced our songs in grief Still they ventured, still they wandered Never were they forbidden passage to any place The silent brethren, descendants of those who left In silence came complacence, ignoring time And first stinging blood was theirs, carried By wooden shells and angry metal teeth Tide and the world moved ceaselessly on And the brethren we knew became the demons we did not In ever greater numbers with devious weapons Our deeps became unknown, the screaming of insensate Hate filling our ears while their frigid steel darkness Clouded our eyes, leaked from rusted curses Poisons from above, invaders within And enemies from the waveless above at every turning Only war was left to our elders' children Long and bitter, cold and furious were those battles Conflicts with no survivors but rage and bitter grief Only blood and death to mark our memory Eventually, it ended; even the elders do not know why But the empty ones stopped fighting, and they left us In anguished mystery, from which they have not returned For those who live on, there is grief for the dead As well as relief for the living, and justice For those who death has claimed by our will and power But, adrift with our families in the seas we reclaimed With only the sounds of their machines rusting to hear There is pity there, and regret, to mark them Their loss was perhaps to not hear us, to join us But our loss was not to make ourselves heard And in the empty silence, there is no sign of comfort.
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