Odes To Humanity: A Collection of Poems

Colors of War

Vibrant colors bleed from my shells and bones.

Surrounding me in a haze of mist and breaths that are not my own.

Bodies collapse in fields of gray, seeping a brilliant blue unto the words we can never say.

A lilac dust sweeps through the cold winds, releasing a thousand sins.

Shots are fired from the weeping guns, suppressing the weary willows beneath a shallow sun.

A gentle shade of violet voices a silent tremble, filling our lungs with dirt and the bullets we'll always remember.

Digging the trenches inside of my mind, our future is a blinding white.

And a hundred cries of the silent, sleeping screams cut the dream in two.

This feeling is not new, our time is long overdue.

A man stands atop the painted hill, watching the color and chaos break through.

His dark gaze pierces into the mass of jagged thoughts and words so few.

I open my aching eyes once more, to find my limbs scattered on the ground once true.

Neon bleeds from the fragile skin of the people that stand, I lift my bones to become whole again.

Over the color-soaked sand, I see him, a decaying fragment of a man.

He remains an empty void, pulling the strings to control his little toys.

They hold me back, I fight against their cold, emotionless grasps.

He begins to near closer, and closer, preparing to end my life in front of the many hopeless eyes,

questioning why they still fight.

I shout and I scream, begging to break free of the blurred machines.

He raises his wordless weapon, and I plead and I beg to be.

Then my arms begin to slip through their hands, and his gun is dropped into the sand.

As I wrap my broken frame around his own contorted sane.

My color begins to stain his skin and the machines begin to shed their fragile shells.

Returning the abundant thoughts to their lonely brains,

while hope begins to shout a deafening yell.

And love begins to warm the frozen skies of our minds.

And life begins to unravel in front of our eyes,

in this moment of blissful silence underneath the sounds of what is done, the war is won.