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Samuel Butcher May 2015
War
If war, you're telling me, is what makes a
man a man
and that you can dig out my insides and
replace the good with automatic unfeeling-
reprogrammed to see no shadows and no
gray just the blinding light of some lairs
justice winding my spring and setting me
marching to the rat-a-tat-tat of bugles bleating
and you can then see fit to wonder why I
might one day come apart as splintered wood
and scream banshee curses and beat on some innocent
flesh with nothing in my empty head but the
nightmare visions and devil's rewind and all the
pox of all the horror you have made me do and
see, the ****** beast you have made of me:
then mister I have to tell you I want no part of that

If war, you're telling me, is what makes a
man a man
and that staring into the flesh torn face
of the stranger you told me is my brother
as my hands claw frantically to wipe away
the blood that spurts greedily from his neck
ripped open by stray debris scattered uncaring
into the wind and that I am meant to hear as well,
hear his foul frothing lips as the weary white
of terror drifts across his eyes and he flops
terribly trying to offer just one more **** word into
this ugly world with the sky turning red above
the both of us and the smoke as thick as carnivals
then mister I have to tell you I want no part of that

If war, you're telling me, is what makes a
man a man
and that I should with echoing voice rejoice
seeing in flashing images of that ephemeral
gaudy green the distant explosions from oblivious
machines and with each shredding salvo should
whoop and holler and not dare think what those streets
must be like, or the limbs in the debris or the searing
heat of the fire as it spreads hungrily from building to
building (office to office, home to home, who knows)
a feeding frenzy that should seem unreal, on a busy night
for Azreal, but since it is something far away I am meant
to be glad for it, and exalt the far off victim's torment
then mister I have to tell you I want no part of that

If war, you're telling me, is what makes a
man a man
and that a man I have never met who had the
misfortune of being born in his country rather
than the misfortune of being born in mine is
my enemy, is my demon defiled, is my foe and
that coming face to face I shouldn't think of his
mother/father/sister/brother/lovers crying just
like mine must be, but should instead see only
the ignorant rage flush his face and feel the cold
knotting of insensible hatred inside my chest should throw
myself on him a dervish of murderous limbs and
mercilessly pound the very breath from him and
smile all the while for having done it with the blood
still splattered on my face like a criminal's Rorschach
then mister I have to tell you I want no part of that

If war is what makes a man a man then god be ****** if it
isn't what breaks a man too, and filling our heads with
tripe and flags and marching bands doesn't change
the fact that I would be made a monster and the stink
of gore and sorrow untold would never wash from
my hands but would follow me to the end of my days
and it would be the last thing my mind would see before the black,
the stench then buried with me in my grave would rise
above the close cut grass, me just one in an ever reaching
row of crosses all done up in white-
not red or black or blue or green or any ****
color you told us mattered, that you sent us to
our deaths under with those colors flapping ahead
of us in the wind and pounding their venom in
our ears no **** color at all just:
white.
Which is all the colors mister,
all of them at all at once in fact.

Mister, I'll have no part in that.
Riding on wisdom saddles,
Looking at those in a babble,
Social media, bubble heckles,
Souls spotted like a speckle,
I can't help what I seen,
Can't unseen what I saw,
My soul is so keen, to the unseen,
Universal signs of law,
Angels blowing trumpets like satchmo,
With a humor like Groucho,
Marks this day in age,
Another turn from the page,
In the day of life, closed in on strife,
Death cuts like a knife,
Deep inside, we try to hide,
But we can't hide, forever,
Life and death can't be severed,
Fading footprints, of the unconscious,
Talks of nonsense,
Trying live up to that and this,
But life goes on and on,
These media freaks have us leeched on,
To less of right, and more to wrong,
It's just that same sad song,
Repeating in our carnal minded heads,
Everyday we make our beds,
Walk out into a world,
Where no words are said,
Spiritually dead, in a mental coffin,
To often, I feel the soften,
Acting with a heart of stone,
But deep down, they're alone,
Waiting for the day of atone,
Another place where only, the
Angels roam,
I see three heavens along,
The side of the earth,
Lighted beings, being dimmed,
As Azreal, makes his trim,
Fear not, those who **** the body, but rather the soul and energy,
Who am I, I am he and he is, an imagine of me, the darkest energy,
Move only by the multiples of three,
Six and nine trilogy,

"So mote it be"
Break out the chapstick, before I kiss, the second pair, of my girls lips,
Freaky is I, caress slowly then **** on her inner thighs, yeah I'm sly guy,
Why lie, let's keep it real for the lyrical ties, I keep ya eyes, baked to a fry,
I get a love jones, in my bones, reigning back on top of, hip hops throne,
Mack more than Jerome, lets get it on, til I see a crack in the horizon,
Moonshine glares, cold heart from these bears, witnesses Genesis,
Turned into exodus, folks still scented off the bloods mist, hard to digest,
Only stay true to the realist, true lyricist, take ya best shots at me, only to miss,






Came off of my cloud, as I cover love over the hate shroud, talk loud,
Without saying nothing, lips is button, once a god, breaks into something,
What you holding, critics folding, tryna shuffle life to an everyday molding,
Slash ya third eye, once I line up in the I, formation, begins a cremation,
Assassination day, prepare for doomsday, from the Sunday to Sunday,
We play with darts, that hits like gun plays, voluminous slays, with no delays,
****** war games, listen to what these critics say, I got my soul, with no price to pay,
I see many souls up on layaway, tryna chase away dreams, for optical themes,
Back in the days, we use to shout cream, the more the money, the more to intervene,
Too much wisdom,so I had to redeem,
Took from Solomons rings, silver scrolls and portals, of an immortal shadows opening,
Destined to ring, Liberty bells but the fat lady can't even sing, see angels to demons bring,
Chaos amongst the human being, universe sight seeing, who do you believe in,
Still teething, on the flavors of the space age  family, twilight I'm just a baby,
To the mice galaxies, Azreal the death angel, warned me, my time is infinite,
I won't see death like Elijah, consumed by the heavenly fire, whirlwind hitting like pliers,
What about the higher,
Deeply resonate with the Messiah, got the torch to the ****, to fly right buy ya,
The Christ slayers, laying with the undertaker's, they taken under,
Sounds of thunder, darkness blooms, now feel the wraths of the Gods, under,
Can't stop, now you stuck in the blunder, on the sevens seas I wonder,
How many scabs on the ram?, How many playing the sacrificial lambs? ,
Heavy weighs the crown, on those who, get drowned, I never seen forth down,
Sho nuff, up in yo town, the villain master, that cause much disaster,
Plastered like I'm drunk, rap thesis like Van Gogh, midnight summer pieces,
I can move, immovable forces, bring life to over a billion corpses,
Got the light from Jesus, suffered from so much, pain through amnesia,
I'm not hear to please ya, I stick to the script, limited life of an Ebenezer,
Nobody to visit me, throw in my tombs, and put the rocks over, to comfort me,
Three days later, I'm feeling greater, angels rolled stones, I'm here to cater,
Satellite ya mind, works em everytime, channel to a higher, state of mind,
Keith Frantz Jan 2020
Sinister breath 
with deadly hands
Minister Death 
blackens all plans
Amber mist tendrils 
creep from Her Door
Seducing ambivalence 
once evermore
Down this long 
and empty hall
Stood I have, 
to defy my fall
The Darkest Door 
does beckon me
I hear Her soft call 
offer the key

Should I chance 
open The Door?
Something waiting 
never seen before?
Slowly seeping 
through the floor
Unearthly light 
of gothic lore...

Tentative yet 
deliberate stride
Forever gone 
erroneous pride
Lead my passage 
to my death 
Unwavering now, 
captured breath!
No one knows 
the other side
The pious fight 
Holy Divide
Religious sacraments 
shall provide
Else, all others 
claimed and lied

To open The Door 
and cure all pain? 
Perhaps all Things 
together again?
Like the ring empty 
of Her finger
My heartfelt ache 
shall always linger
I know better than share 
this Final Poem
Those wounded shall read it 
twice once I'm home.

Slow black robe walk 
I now tread
Lord's weeping steps 
toward The Dead
I pretend not to notice 
Your brilliant luster
With the same glorious deceit 
led me trust Her
I pretend not to reach 
for Your eternal promise
Within my body cosmos 
my witness Saint Thomas
I doubt The Door 
and all She offers
My Heart, Mind, Soul 
all wistful coffers

Ill-fated, alone 
where I live in here
Amidst constant regret 
and lasting fear 
Whether pills or rope 
or a single bullet
Suffering forever 
The Door my gauntlet 
Be it fumes or bridge 
or rapid train
The Door dooms, 
myself I will have slain
Curiosity leads me 
to and away
From Death's Door 
I die to stray

Not surrounded by the countless 
I have touched 
The differences I have made 
to and such
Hard timber voices 
and friends to the end
Fatal my choices 
be made, cleansed, and penned

Ignored, rejected, 
and consumed by abuse
My struggle reflected
looms threads in my noose
This Door unlocks 
by curiosity 
Unknown Her 
squeaky hinge atrocity
Dangerous **** 
turns one way temptation 
Distorted Azreal 
casts thee forsaken!

Sympathetic souls 
who woo me to live
Feed themselves over 
again to forgive
As ancestors whisper 
ironic invitations
I float as I whimper 
twice-quick damnation!
Our time waiting 
is sorrowfully short run
Colors dance and fade
when Life's painting is done
I have offered all 
and then enough more
I'm drawn nearer still 
t'ward my Darkest Door

Scribing above my bedroom wall
A final message wails my call 
One thousand verses 
I have carved above the bed
Darkening dither thickening 
within my head
Desperate pleas from above 
I have shed
O! Cradle lover's knees 
once I am dead

My note, once found, 
should one soon after arrive 
Would task each themself 
why I did not survive
Three answers thus
No, no, and yes
By which sequence 
the reader place them
Innocence or guilt 
will each condemn
I shall consent 
to those living 
to decipher 
If They had a cause 
in My life, 
death, 
or neither

Agony and misery 
Torture and strife 
Lead me in anguish
To extinguish this life
The final solution 
for a temporary problem
A primal delusion 
tender Cemetery Autumn
Outstretched slow
My trembling reach 
Hope gone now
Here, through the breach


January 22, 2020
I realize this may trigger various responses from some of you. Please understand I have first-hand experience of the subject but treated this only as a theme, not a desire.
Please read it in that manner.
If you have concerns or questions, please feel free to reach out and DM me. Or...
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

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