It’s 2025 today
By Logan Mott
it’s 2025 today, i realized
that thought left me dumb this dawn
i will admit to a certain terror that filled me
as my thoughts regarded my future suns
a road fills my vision, twisting and dark
i confess to be uncertain and anxious
the paths end often in parts
ive forgotten my sense of freedom
you see, my life has grown predictable
in predictable, there is manageable
strange how this misery can bring comfort
compared to thoughts of what dawn may bring
tomorrow is shot with holes
full of awfull ‘what ifs?’
yet, ive grown used to this devil
and all its terrible gifts
in 2032, ill be gone from prison
but a terrible price i’ve payed
how can i embrace the future?
when my past remains unsettled?
i hadnt put much thought into ‘all over’
but thats just it; start over
a step off the ledge or cliff
a whole new life
but, unlike before, i have a past life;
a mistress who clutches tight
who reminds of past transgressions
and so much pain
i am afraid to hurt again
the way i once was, all over
come 2032, the new begins
and once again will come the rain
nothing is promised by tomorrow, or in it
with candor; i admit to fear
but i move on in the darkness
full of doubt
for i am my mothers son, my fathers son!
two warriors on their own
they made their way, forged in the struggle
and this i dearly hold
a line of soldiers lives and breaths in me
i will push on and on and on
until my work is done
or on my shield back home they will bear me
i fear tomorrow; yes
but mark me this:
ill make a dent in life yet
you and i will just have to take a bet.
Every Second is a Story
By Logan Mott
every second is a story
find a fault in that;
where every glimpse, picture.
every breath a homage to a unshaped past
in each of us lie a soldier
bravely and boldly marching on
we all pray for a warriors brave ending
where ones immortal fate is sealed.
the world drinks of our life!
no death can matter exept with it.
where in knives and armor, steel can shatter
but the metal of the soul rages unquenchably within
i revel in the changes
that last dance with chance
so godbless that fate is left to lay unwritten
beholden only to a foolhardy mortals quest
to find the creature within.
There Is a Sound To Silence
By Logan Mott
A haunting melody to curse one’s dreams
One beyond all hope, and swept in dreadful patience
That strikes like a viper, without a whisper of peace
It is the hum in the emptiness
A hollow and lonely noise that takes
That has a terrible ability to curse the cleanliness
And twists the words of one’s conscience
I hear the howl of the empty air
Artificial, and suffocating
Accompanied in this cell, it is hard to bear
The crushing despair, the horrible weight
Is it boredom, that drags these seconds?
That causes in me a silent howl?
To echo like bullets in this ghoulish air
To hit and rend my flesh at the seams
These wounds are grave and dear
They weigh heavy, like an anchor in sea
It is easy to drown in the savage music
The deeper you sink, the harder it is to breathe
Make no doubt
There is no sound in the void
So none can hear our screams
Not even the hardest spirits will be relieved.
What Makes Me Wake
By Logan Mott
These walls can speak
And but a whisper that they need
To deprive even a titan of spirit
And rend apart the most unconquerable creeds
To break even the mightiest of nobles
And shatter mountains to seed:
And he, only a man emptied but for dust
Haunted only by costly and sorrowed dreams
Questioned always; bereft of trust
only left with unquenchable need
Alone, he is tortured in this silence
In a cell of more than iron and concrete
In an invincible cage of spirit and surrender
That can shatter even gods at its altar’s feet
Every day that rises, he questions
Solid, he strains silently beneath his grief
Not shying beneath the enormous effort
Enduring, despite the hopelessness of relief
In the emptiness, he asks of himself
From where next his strength shall be conjured
Within the smothered embers of his belief
Yet still, he shall rise into the dying days
Raging resolutely against their feeble light
Knowing well the horrors that will await
To welcome him at the suns last pale might
Time and time again, he will rise from darkness
Haggard and desperate, but blazing belief
His stubborn spirit shall rise yet with him
To somehow conquer the bleakness of his sleep
The faded strength of his heart still feeds him
Afraid, he wonders if this substance is enough
Awake, his mind will question
“I can?”
And louder, fate will answer
“You must!!”
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