National Poetry Writing Month: Day Twenty-Nine, "The Man in the White Suit"

This poem is based on the two main characters in the book I am in the process of redrafting. Enjoy.

Have you seen him,
The man in the white suit?
He’s causing quite the stir.
With great pride,
Does he rise,
His eyes filled with devilish allure.

Nobody knows who he really is,
That man whose influence grows,
As does his might and power.
Like a shadow of white light,
He spreads his great dominion,
His force seems to bloom like a flower.

His words are like wisps in the wind,
Winding and falling on our hearts,
Whispering to us deep desire.
With but a speech to the masses,
Does he reach out to our souls,
And light in us passion and fire.

But the man in the white suit is not without foes,
And such a menace is the one known as ‘The Guardian’,
Hidden behind his black mask.
A blade in one hand,
The Kinetic Regulator in the other,
And the defeat of our champion he has made his task.

So to war go these men,
The risen hero and the fallen,
In the greatest battle of our nation.
 What will transpire,
Will shape the rest of our time,
In the aftermath of certain this destruction.

National Poetry Writing Month: Day Twenty-Eight

Let go of your burning hate,
Unburden that unforgiving weight.
The tree will let fall the withering leaf,
Only you were my joy and my grief.
I do not care if what happened was right,
But I did not act out of mere slight.
The tree will let fall the withering leaf,
A drain upon life, an emotional thief.

National Poetry Writing Month: Day Twenty-Seven, "Don't Do Drugs"

One last haiku for the month.

If love is a drug,

It's my parents fault I'll die

alone, "Don't do drugs!"

National Poetry Writing Month: Day Twenty-Six, "The Little Things"

 

It feels like we live in difficult times,
With demands besetting us on all sides.
And while we strive to rise to such harsh challenges,
The scale can tip and gone are the balances.
It’s important in times savage as these,
To resist and combat that consuming disease.
For it’s easy to lose sight of who we really are,
And though it may seem somewhat bizarre,
It’s the little things in life that keep us sane.
Whether it’s a glass of wine or the sound of rain,
Or taking the time to watch a film or write a poem,
We need these things to keep our minds from being stolen,
By the stresses of life that seek to enslave,
And ultimately pressures that we grow to crave.

National Poetry Writing Month: Day Twenty-Five, "The Master and his Lieutenant's Mystery"

And then I saw him, kneeling in the sand,
Motionless as the Master issued devastating commands.
The lieutenant merely nodded, simple and without daze,
But there was a power in his eyes that shattered all sense of glaze.
Unlike the others, this soldier was aware,
And that alone is the heaviest burden to bare.
For the Master was a devil hidden in the guise of man,
And to control the minds of all was his ultimate plan.
For decades he has worked to manipulate the people’s cognition,
And those who defied he eliminated as opposition.

Yet here was a man, deep within his counsel,
That anyone of his like had come before was very doubtful.
Around him was politics and backstabbing aplenty,
But he stood out to me as some silent sentry.
If the Master saw what I saw, this man would surely die,
But he could not, and I ask myself why.
But for his eyes, there was nothing remarkable about him,
Like the others, his form was grizzled, bloodied and grim.
Then it struck me, that he thoughts are never spoken aloud,
And he does not carry himself like a person proud.
He takes his orders, foul as they may be,
And he executes them to the purest degree.

I understood in that moment why he stood out from his brothers,
For the truth of the Master had not yet within him been smothered.
He remembers the days of when we were liberated,
And knows the ways in which we can no longer be opinionated.
Then he looked at me and within a single breath,
And I realised that I too knew the truth, and this meant my certain death.

National Poetry Writing Month: Day Twenty-Three

Do you ever think of me?
Do I ever visit your dreams?
Late at night, have I softly tread within your longing mind?
Do I reside within your thoughts as much as you do within mine?
For I hope to be there,
Words do not articulate or lay bare,
And I know I do not say, for I cannot.
I merely hope, least of all, my memory shan’t be soon forgotten,
For you, I know with certainty, will not.

National Poetry Writing Month: Day Twenty-Two, "Captain Mareado"

How I’d love to sail the seven seas,
Standing in the bird's nest taking in that sea breeze.
I’d be a pirate with my crew and do as I please,
Or be an admiral and deal with such seaway thieves.
I know one day I’ll conquer the seven seas,
If I can stop vomiting on a boat and stay these shaking knees.