Blood-Red Moon

Tags

Freindship, Life, Peace, poetry, Prose, War

You reign underneath a blood-red moon where the stars do    
not align and the clouds appear indiscriminately like rising   
armies or lions or lionesses.    
You have lived nine lives, like a cat, and squandered every one,  
and you are nine times cruel.  

You led the charge, predictably you grew bored. You were 
lucky to escape with your bones intact and your innards intact.
It's criminal the way you behave - to drag everyone else into
battle. You could have called for a ceasefire at any point. I'm
alluding to the war in your head. Unlike you, peace is my thing, 
it's a contagion. And I'm at my happiest when dealing it
out. 

Don't be surprised when they come for you and lock you 
away in a mental institution and throw away the key; They'll
make a statue out of your head and tear it down, and tow you 
away with old ropes and the strength of people's feeling; It's not
advantageous to remain dead and a deadbeat, it's a pity you never
found the courage to turn it around. How ever did you manage to 
evade justice for so long, they'll be saying. Never was there a more 
horrendous war and no one more deserving of a scathing 
response. 

You'll live out your days like a drooling fool - A maddening, in 
cahoots with the devil,  only the insane would consummate such 
a marriage. You're locked into your skin for all time and evermore  
and forever and a day. You'll never know the beauty of being alive, 
to have found it, touched it, needed it. Peace, for you, was a step  
too far. 

They'll erase the memory of you, it will be like you were never 
born to begin with. It'll be the day everyone throws up their arms 
and cheers: You left nothing but old tales of war and destruction 
in your wake, truly you were despised by everyone. You've only 
ever been a terrorist. I couldn't be less eager to please you, 
given the opportunity. 
You, old friend, are a voice I can live without; you are as stained  
as the battle scars you wear. 

I'm sure some will allude to the fact you are misunderstood -
but not me, I'm more knowledgeable than you gave me credit for;
I can spot a lie in daylight and during the night, from fifty miles
away. You're as predicable as the crow flies, I could set my watch 
by your insults, for the number of times you went back on 
your word. 

There's a fundamental flaw in the making of you; your 
development – you were bullied one time, now you have 
become the aggressor. Haven't you learnt a single thing, 
puppet-master? 
You'll not pull my strings or lead me into battle. Peace keeps me  
light, on tiptoes and in high-heels, I'll only ever reach for peace. 
What's good lasts eternally; evil ties itself in knots. 

I'm viewing it from all angles, like a scientist would. 
You should know by now, I'll always speak the truth, I won't
lie to spare my voice. 

If I never write another poem again, I'm glad I wrote this. You 
should have known better than to provoke a response from me,
it would eventually come out in the wash. I'm not sorry our 
friendship has come to this, I remain blissfully ignorant of all 
you do.
I remember you for being mean hearted; what a tale you have to   
tell the children. What a tale!