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Chloe DeAngelis Apr 2020
Mine eyes heavy
Twins aching in the skull
Indeed pretty
Yet of exhaustion they are full
Quick quatrain I made when tired.
ms reluctance Apr 2020
We call them heroes, send them to fight
armed with plastic armor, much extolled valor.
They are isolated inside the veil of gratitude,
Drafted in a terrible war they never asked for.

We call them heroes, our robust knights
who will slay the beast, shield us from its fury.
We try to forget the open secret that they were,
in fact, robbed of a choice, ****** into glory.

We call them heroes without ever knowing
the face behind their masks and elastic bands.
These worrisome times will come to pass;
meanwhile, we stay inside and wash our hands.
NaPoWriMo Day 13
Poetry form: Quatrain
Derrek Estrella Feb 2020
When staring at my skin
From your soft distance
Be sure to ask yourself this:
How much life do we have left between us?
Derrek Estrella Feb 2020
There's always an empty space somewhere
For your mind and your tongue
Untouched and ******
Waiting to be sung
Derrek Estrella Feb 2020
And ripped from immaculate dreams
Are the abhorrent beasts that haunt me
And they grossly linger far longer
Than the euphoria that taunts me
ADi Dec 2019
Soft as light that slips through windows shaded
alabaster body tangled up in
sea of wrinkled cotton warm and faded.
Still and silent, I dare not awaken
ghost queen May 2019
death is coming, it is a dark point on the horizon
it will be here, sooner than expected, the planet is dying
why are you preparing for a future, the future
why are you denying it is happening, sticking your head in the sand
going about, living carefree, when your children will suffer, millions will die

do you need a quatrain, a burning bush, to see the horror racing towards us
nostradamus didn’t see it, but we did, like a slow train wreck
the air will burn your lungs, the oceans scald your flesh
by the time you react, you will have reached the point of no return
your children are an army of dead men walking
their bodies catching up to their environmental fate
it is too late to cry, it is time to die

what will we do, how will we choose, who lives, who perishes
your cozy lives will disintegrate in social chaos as individual fight for survival
our former rules and norms will vanish, as the strong and ruthless vanquish
you will witness horrors, etched into your mind, re-dreamt every night

scream and cry, it could have been avoid, such is the tragedy of the commons
complacency of the masses, mass graves of the innocent
gods will die, civilizations will fall, as you huddle, shaking in a dark corner
Darkness, by Lord Byron , 1816, year without a summer

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3322429/pale-horse/
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