Seeing Red, Poem 2



(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.)


Hungry for the high that rushes, hollow, but raw,
All of Man caves acceptantly to the more callous of it’s urges,
The loss of control, of reason, to gain the unrivaled rage that
Every madman holsters, another weapon to unleash.

Is it the rush of the moment, that twisted
Solace of passion, that pushes men over the mount?

No sane being holds health or safety together, and
Expects to change things with anger.
Violence against culture causes ruptures, and
Every victim’s relatives are torn apart, never to
Recover from the senseless ignorance of seeing-red murders.

Take a deep breath, put reason before slaughter,
Here, in this moment, save innocent hands
Expecting to live their lives far longer.

All of us have a duty to honesty and commonality,
Not to the continuity of criminality, caste, or crualty.
See the fellow man, beyond the skin, love or
Wanter faith, and work to end intra-Man hate.
Everyone has the right to a long life, the
Right to fulfill, and reshape their way of live.

Seeing Red



(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète)


Hate. The heat of hurt.
Feel it force through to the heart,
feel it coarse and clog the veins,
feel the fury force on darkened sight.
Without a notion of reason or ration,
the rush so wild and wholly provocating,
it’s the kind of moment so brutally binding,
an experience sure to be regretting.

Unmastered are the minute’s motions
where mystery has mutilated the moment.
Mind is no master of the body’s motions
when murderous impulses have mustered.
The callous purity of this precipitous pounding
pushes the line restraining light from night,
absorbing the belligerents of the arena
in the event to smother them in embarrassment.

Seeing red is the demon in us all,
the drowning feeling that darkens the soul.
Deepen the anger, and you deepen the whole
you dig for yourself at the end of the barrel.
Breathe, let the air take up it’s minute,
your anger isn’t worth the pain unmerited. 
The darkness isn’t worth the moment
soon, when you’ll live to regret it.

Cut the hollow flow to the heart,
let the veins cleanse the clogging,
let the calm mind clear the fury
and for reason to return your sanity.
Moments of rage never make the masters
of the most miserable of men.
Let the fear fade from the system,
repatriating love so natural within.

To The Stars


(Cr. Pr3t3nd3r)


(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.)

This week’s writing prompt: Hope


One needs no more than to gaze
at the wars we wage with eachother
and wonder when the bloodshed and anger,
fear and hatred will be passed and over.
We see so small this world shared with others
we’ve never left, nor gotten to work leaving,
that wondering what will mixes with wishing
for worlds beyond our reaching, waiting in the night.
Silent stars shine their light, lonely in sight,
their stillness sees through eons of existence
we’ve barely begun to scratch, safe in primitive science
saving the wonders as mysteries we’re not worthy to see.
This is the primacy of the modern human species,
of solitude and shame for the anomalies to conformity,
making deities in man’s image as excuses for piety,
to shy from curiosity, and combat what’s meant to be.

Survival’s our essence, discovery’s a necessity,
disovering causalities and commonalities beyond familiarity,
beyond the blue skies that boast their own natural beauty
and in the space succeeding, seated between struggle and survival.
Such is the hope surpassing that of one man
manning ambitions and expectations barely surpassing their nation
and not accounting for the needs of the whole over their own
now in need of nurture and structure to ensure all our futures.
Endeavour for the enterprise that brightens existence,
but ensures for everyone a sufficient subsistance.
The stars in the sky demand the strongest dreams
and the ambition in hope on which we grab hold.
Heaven is on high, but nigh an afterlife,
rather, a liberation from endless deliberations and confrontations
and the expectation of extension and outreach,
to reach our journey’s end and extend the stellar family.

Space is the stage by which progress is profoundest,
where hope most abundant may never hollow out or fade,
where our ultimate challenge as a unified collective
convinces us of the strengths of all of our convictions.
Uncover the discoveries of the former, dormant universe
and unwravel within the mysteries where life begins.
Unity is a strength scolded not uncommonly,
but uneccessarily broken by the shackles of immaturity.
Go beyond, break the barriers of our Gaia,
and grow man’s reach through these gentle, waiting stars.
Faith in the familliar is as fickle as it is fruitless,
and fosters the failing of long forbidden longings.
Anticipate the needs along the length of time
and our ancestry will be one of a long line.
Hope of survival is the host of our struggle
but enduring life is lived in the lineage eternal.

Endeavours are enduring, as long as there’s no end or ceiling,
no Empire or enforcers to endure, and end this feeling.
Fumbling at first is the best measure of our learning,
for unending is the endeavouring of our pioneering beings.
Broker the prosperity that paves a better path,
and build the proper power to ensure a world free from wrath.
We are the architects of a world waiting in the wings
and waining the wills of hurts and hates of old.
Holster those harmful weapons where war is unwarranted
and work to build the homes of those yet to come.
The stars in the sky demand the strongest dreams
and the ambition in hope on which we grab hold.
Space is the stage by which progress is profoundest,
where hope most abundant may never hollow or fade,
where our ultimate challenge as a unified collective
convinces us of the strengths of all of our generations.

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