AN ARTIST AT WAR (I WROTE THIS WHEN I WAS 16)

I joined, not of my own will, but perhaps joined for some advantage to my profession; for insight maybe to better my skills as an artist. I stayed to become the best at what I do, to see what normal men do not see. So that I could interpret what others can only dream off; new countries, new bonds perhaps, but most definitely, war. To see the most beautiful thing die by my hands was truly art: Men, women, homes, nature, all scorned by my hands and I did it for me, for my own selfish reasons.

I stayed, not by choice or duty that forced me to stand alone. It was not the forces of queen and country, nor for the praise and reward of a safe return home, it destiny, inevitability that drove me. I can change it, it was me and only me who could misguide the will of the Gods, I choose my future, every duck and dodge, every shot I fire, every order I obey. I choose my future, and that is why I stayed.

I stayed, because the first painting that came from my newly blistered hands was better than I had expected, blood, sweat and tears were all poured into it and for a while onto it. The pallet was bold, shades of crimson mud, emerald green skies from the chlorine gas and bright shades of silver from the wreckages of cars and planes. Inspiration was never far away, a dead friend here, a bombshell there, everything was art; and it sickened me. I stayed, so I could create more murals of this arid wasteland.

I stayed, because the bond I had with my brothers in arms was something far stronger than anything I had ever experienced, yet the chains of friendship that we formed in battle were just as easily broken by a bullet as it was forged by time. I stayed because home was were the heart was, with my brothers, my sisters, my platoon and after the countless battles I felt as if I had lost it, do I still have a heart? Where would I have gone when this had finished, and so I stayed.

I stayed, because behind the raging metal beasts lay a man, so lacking so void of bravery that the beasts swallowed him up. The rule of the wild did not apply to them; they killed by order, not for food. And whilst constantly in these predators stomachs, he lay, not needing to move, not needing to fight and this man, so lacking in bravery became brave. I stayed because these animals became my hosts. And I a mere parasite a nuisance that would only destroy them.

I stayed, only for the people that needed me most, those people that saw my plain visage as a cover for some deep seated emotion I had brewing in me but the truth was, at this point I felt nothing, the countless lives slain by my hands, had made me cold. I stayed because the scythe I was given to become the slayer of man and the helmet I was given to make me feel just that bit more immortal were the only tools I needed to feel safe, but when is one ever safe at war.

I stayed, not because of loyalty to any deity, not by the work for the lord my country promised me, for what God would send to the kingdom of heaven a harbinger of death? What creature in all existence had more power than I, with the flick of a finger I had life and death whimpering at my boots, I stayed because this this set of keys I was entrusted with at birth, the keys to the kingdom of heaven had been cruelly swiped from me by the embodiment of greed, it’s a shame that an individual must be punished for the greed of the masses.

I stayed, because nestled in these pits of despair that both protected and imprisoned us, these crevasses that we had built and fashioned with our own hands had decided our fate, they were our gods now and we were mere ants in the weaving circuits. I stayed because in these traps we had laid for ourselves more traps laid on the other side of us; I knew that the suffering was equally as great for them as it was for us, but was this justified, an eye for an eye has made the world blind.

I stayed, because I knew that, I would never become what our Sargent wanted, I would never conform to becoming such a ruthless killing machine, a slave to a higher power that we could only hear, someone who’s sole purpose in life was to be condemned to death but before that condemn others to their death, I would never become something as empty and lacking in purpose as him. We all feared him more than the enemy, but we respected him more than our fathers.

I stayed, because the most innocent victim was desecrated earth had been twisted, moulded and bent by our very might, every view I ever saw, every creature that scurried innocently past my platoon was stopped in his tracks when his home and the once beautiful canvas was reduced to that but ruins and rubble, bodies and bullets. There was nowhere left for me, nowhere would I willingly live. I stayed, because I though what I was doing was for the greater good, that my actions would leave the world in better hands, but all we did was rape it for its resources and stain it red with the blood of killer, virgins and children.

I stayed, perhaps for the selfish reason that I enjoyed the thrill; I enjoyed the excitement of being closer to death than any other, an ecstasy that would help me to create better masterpieces than any other artist, titles that would leave viewers in awe, and images that would engrave me in whatever would be left of earth’s history when this was all over. I stayed for money, I stayed for power and I stayed for all the reasons this was started for.

I leave, because I had marched in to the cold fires of oblivion, and returned without wound, the only thing felt was the blood of the brainwashed as it ran down my lapels and the everlasting sound of steel rain. I left, because the devil has a special place in hell for people like us; a pristine shelf titled “Hero’s” and in this shelf, where we rest for all eternity we watch. We watch as he plays our previous proud moments in history, the ones we were told were for the greater good. I leave because the countless life’s taken, the homes destroyed, an eternity of damage and a never healing scar on the face of Earth’s history. And for all the artistic insight, all the power, the wealth, the land and the message we showed the rest of the world, it wasn’t worth it. I killed for a country I neither believed in nor belong to all for a variety trinkets that one day I can pass on to my child, but will anyone ever take a broken man. I leave because the final picture came to me so unnaturally that by the end it was a blank canvas stained the blood of an unknown soldier, a masterpiece, a tragedy and that is why I leave.

Black Is The New Orange

How many of you have normal lives?
Ones where everything has gone to plan so far.
how many of you; Think
you have the right partner? the right job? or even a fully functioning family?
you enjoy your education? you’re happy with the class you were born into?
where you are actually pleased with what you’ve turned out like
the world in which you wouldn’t change a single thing
see, Normality inst normal anymore
people aren’t normal anymore.

The P's Of Love

Persistence of the Person you love to a Point that Personal Pleasures become a Primitive Pastime.

When Procedural Profanity becomes a Ploy to Peer into the Pure heart of someone you see as your Partner.

losing the Gap

Forgetting about everything else,
So you can float in your own world,
But you aren't alone this time.

When the realization of happiness kicks in,
The things you love become embodiment's of
Being with someone and being part of something greater,
Subtle but devastating reminders.

That fluster of indescribable courage,
Indecisive yet indestructible.
Knowing a great famish when separated yet fulfilled by a single thought.

knowing exactly what to say,
Yet having an aimless ability to say anything but whats needed,
To know a good nights sleep yet still fear,
For it separates,
Even if just for a few hours,
And this could be the last.

Fissure

Love could be considered a natural disaster,

The spirits cry for attention as it scars the body and core,

It comes in flurry's of beautiful destructive waves,

Flee if you can, but there is no crevice deep enough ,

For it will entangle roots of something delightful and new,

And you can only watch in awe as it consumes you.

You chase it in circles, like an infinite hurricane,

A maelstrom of pure emotion,all welling up,

At the brink of something beautiful at the edge of something cruel,

Destined to be at the wrong place, at the right time.

Marionette

I've never been in control,

I’m convinced my life is a weave of intricate threads running atop, around and through the lives of many.
A comfort to some and an irritant to others.
There is no set guideline for how a man should think, but surely there is more to life than the shoemakers loom.

Surely somewhere there is a blueprint, some idea perhaps that can help entwine my threads together.
A firm rope to pull ahead to the future.
Not just a puppet  of a shoemaker, with strings that could break at any minute.

Scarlet showers

No one arrives somewhere planning to fall In love.

In fact love is more spontaneous and temporary than a meteor shower, 

You’ll miss a few but you’ll be glad you saw the ones you saw.
That place at that time had a 1 in 300 chance, 

If we talk about the area in general perhaps it’d be 1 in 1000.
But it happened and I’m glad, 

The odds were never with me, 

The odds be damned,

And for one day and the many that followed they stayed damned.

The Highway to Love

Affection is not a two way street,
It’s a bypass.

If you’re not going at the same speed as everyone else you better pull the fuck over, turn on your hazard lights and let the world see how broken you are.

Unknown Powers

You don’t know what you do to me.
Truth is, I can’t exactly explain what that is.
It’s hard to imagine other souls endure this,
It makes my heart sunder knowing they do.
You talk about “fairness”
You talk about “deserving” something better
You talk a lot,
But I never knew you for a talker.
And so when my screen lights up and your name is shown
Walking the fine line of love & hate,
Fear is what I feel.