Paying the piper

After four and a half years in the military
being in strange places and a bit scary

Now….I´m paying the piper
with my back that looks each day drunker
when before it was the striker

Now is pain
with nothing to gain

No crying though
I did volunteered to kill a Talibani hoe

At age thirty two
I feel I have the body of an eighty two
so…..booooo!!

Just paying the piper now
so fuck it
Got to own the how
and yell yeeehaaa ! …. wow

Stay Frosty gents and gentesses.

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House of War

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One rule,
never lie to me
you fool
I´m result oriented organisation
that is my creation
since once I go forward
I don´t back down so you will get deathly rewarded
you will enter into my domain
you will fill the shame
Rules,
don´t lie, don´t steel, don´t murder
these are basic rules that every man of every faith
should embrace
if not you will be
entering…..my House of War

Stay Frosty gents and gentesses

Weekly Challenge May4 – Duets – “Hell’s Hand Satchels”

Written by Mockingbird Down and Americana Injustica

“Why do we sit at this table, my Friend?
in the back of the bar behind the pirate’s curtain,
I believe that we somehow have each been,
on separate paths to the same trouble, again;
these kinds of places mean only one thing,
the scars on our faces are rather telling,
now let’s drink and divulge in our comradery,
but, why is it that your hands are trembling?”

“Don’t sip so fast, my dear. My hands only
tremble because of the quieted rage I have grabbing
at my chest. Can you see them, love?
The demons of the bastards and the whores as they
laugh and squeal in time to each others bleating?
I have brought us here, for clear and precise reasons,
and your scars will only serve you well by the time
the reckoning has begun. It is a very beautiful night.”

“Aye – you’re right; what a perfected, star-filled sky,
epochs in time, they still shine – a shrine to you and I,
a luminary mapping of the vengeance in your eyes,
a twinkling mirror image of the bastards that must die;
Now sit back and let your chains down, my friend,
indulge in the strength of our unity, once again,
we both know how it goes: it’s us against them,
in an infinite war for the Hell that we find comfort in.”

“You speak truth. I have grown weary of these chains
and the weight they add to my steps. My shoulders have
become accustomed to carrying burden of injustice; Hell’s
hand satchels; filled with the names of the hunted horsemen
who failed to do what we must do. But – I share this load with you;
my kin both in the infected shadows, and in the guileful light.
Intoxication it is, my friend, both of the mind and of the body.
Tonight we watch the stars unfold, and light the way for morning.”

Fucking Marrocans

The fucking Moroccans…
I did have to show my game and better my spade
don´t  like to do it,
and I have no one to blame for that game
than me,
put  me or i should say……
put myself  in those kind of situations where they think they can take advantage of  me
they are hawks,
and at one moment in my life hawks no shit,
I was a fucking wolf
I did love th HK 36 seemed it had a one 5.56(bullet)  so that was that
don`t need to hear your insults unless you want me to really go nuts
fucking useless , funny thing, he did get the shit out of there
pretty scare I suppose, worst part…mom heard the word
and that will be
for me a scare.

Fucking Moroccan then fuck you, already killed in that country,
don´t fuck withme in my own country.

Stay Frosty gents and gentesses

Empty Seats.

Mocking Bird Down

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The cold crept in, like dry ice on my own
private stage. The performance of a life time,
to be danced in the dark, with only empty chairs;
frayed and a dull worn out burgundy,
all numbered. Lights off, and just the
beat of a half remembered tune in my mind.

No grace in this face. Just heavy and jilted
movements. No perfect lines in this spine.
I ache when I move, but this is my own version
of a less than eloquent love story, and to me,
It feels more like an effort to breathe.
The numbered empty seats will not mock.

I don’t need nor want applause for my awkward
bended knees, or my outstretched hands, or for
the insecurities I fail to hide in my silly costumes.
All I care for is the freedom to twirl in time
to the one line of an old unnamed song…

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~Turbulent~

That Sinking Feeling by rosiehardy on Flickr

Hiding from life
Endless strife
Drowning under the waves
No need to be brave
Soul searching
Seeking the light
Suffocating darkness
Heart staining blight
Cleansing…all that remains
To rid me of residual blame
My spirit refuses, still fighting me
Thus remaining as turbulent as the sea

©Paris Poems 2015

photo: That Sinking Feeling by rosiehardy on Flickr