Break/Point

What is the point/
at which you / break
down / trodden under foot
of the rolling / machine
of work
it never / stops / or slows
/ just more
now more is too / much
and break/age begins
/ to wear / down
your resolve/
your reserve/
your / self
it's just too / hard
to handle / all
pieces / parts you juggle
things / you control
but / control isn't / real
you should / be realistic
/ control is something you
never really had / is it
you are / a cog
in a group / of larger cogs
that spin / whir
and work
until / you reach
the / point
you / break

Will they draft the interstellar war

I wonder if belt buckles will become tighter

If men will be taller

In the battlefield are there death tollers?

As you sign in your draft card:

man or woman?

will the war be so grand that gender no longer matters?

Must we bake with margarine instead of butter

Will all protein be spam?

All the food I eat is rationed

Glory to man!

(This is something I wrote a few months ago that I felt like sharing)

Linked While Torn

I finally finished is today!  This is a continuation of the series of poems I started with Beautifully Broken.  Like that one, this is another 3-part sonnet.  And again, Blogger is being poopy about formatting.  Imagine the "Torn to Pieces" section is flush on the left side.  And that there is only one line of space between the title and the body.



Linked while Being     Torn to Pieces


Beauty cannot              triumph always 
stay untarnished          be whole and gold
forever, yet we              travel this road
together as                    the steady stays
masts and ropes           until it hazes
-crack- will be torn      where this now old
break burns my            eye, glazes, folds
soul, so charring          shuts out the blaze
becomes scarring         that spreads without
and now I lose             control and when
what I wanted             extinguished, what
was always mine          dissolves, the clout
it's no longer                carried within
mine -never was-         never could be.