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Dead Poets

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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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