Bah poetry, wasted space and time and paper. Wasted ink, usually on fingers, wasteful ink Here's my dabble in political poetry. _________________________________________________ The Blue dress it too tight I feel the material twist over my bruised skin Sucking in, faint from the restraints of the royal silks I must find comfort I pull a Red shawl around my shoulders Clothing my body in the strength of a thousand threads We died in trenches of urban warfare Lives limited to one touch Keep breathing, the smoke and the tears fall from his lips as he speaks the last dying words of the revolution I strayed, captured by the beauty of blood promises of power and glory They fall separated Each one falling to the ground Together we stood, together fallen from the hands of our martyrs I’m afraid of the dark void I’m afraid of what I built Absence of light and dreams A slave to steel And yours painted crimson by the blood of my people Utopia excommunicated by the third committee of the forth standing I suffered for what you believed in. I chose the side of the oppressor and your people oppressed us just the same The swinging of the pendulum The hems of my skirt caught underneath I’m not weak, I cry purple and scream freely The cost of hurting you is freedom for us all Should I rise up against the gentleness of your gaze? I would bring down your empire with one blink of my lashes I could have their savior His Mistress, his capturer We bring you to your knees Begging Standing there I know why you fought so long So hard I see the desperation in your ideals The corruption in mine I fall begging for the center You desert me draped in your flags Abandoning every Red dream
woah! *stands with mouth open* this poem is so bruised and fragile the character you're writing as....wowser....this is the most powerful piece i've read today! WOW!
