TB ( / )

The Old Dance

In twilight days of half meals
We gathered weapons in, anger
Long stilled into vaporous ether
Whisked away unseen, a constant
Blown clear off these curled brows
For it had finally been enough
This unfathomable loss of us

The fighting of flesh, the torn minds
Ripping and flailing about of limbs, acts
Against greater odds, desperate thoughts
Lingering for eternity between hot breaths
Sweat of common and high ranking
Mingled with battle fluids crushed
Beneath wild gaze and maiden strengths

Slipping about every heart, our fallen
Purged to the surface in anguish
Unblemeshed ghost fathers
Nagging the mete of our worth
Dispatched at ever more familiar foe
Pressing fate amid this clumsy waltz
Of true victory none, then weary home

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 14 votes ) 13

Other poems of BELL (37)

Comments (13)

A pervasive and intense sense of the futility of violence, physical and vocal/emotional, personal and beyond, positively drips from these extremely eloquent and sorrowful lines. Every line is superb, but the final lines of each stanza reach the highest peaks of poetic artistry. This is awesome Tailor!
The eloquence and terseness of this poem - just totally admirable. This just explodes off the screen. Kudos. - Will
Wonderful use of language, every line packed with meaning. Hugs Anna xxx
Tailor this is of course an excellent poem. There must be another way to settle our differences without the constant fighting, physically and mentally, the horrific pain of families brought on by the loss of life of loved ones. This poem is one that should be read by all. Thankyou---Melvina
Excellent. Strong and deeply cutting, incisive lines and message. Powerplay. Patrick
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