The Waiting
By Logan Mott
in war, i dread the waiting
the spanning moments, they swallow and tick
i see them watching, whispering
and know them to be sharpening picks
i am a small young childish boy
alone in a sea, without friends
the sharks lazily circle, bored
grimly, i ponder the many ends
often, i image the heros of old
all too often, im not like them
too frequent, i shouldve been fearless and bold
a battle is coming, and i cant hide then
so long, ive suffered this violence
many times, its come agiain
before long, i fear my spirit will die
and i will have to enter the bloodlust and sin
in the war to come, evil lives
but what choice do i have?
gone today is the goodness of men
with thier swords drawn, they come to crash
i no longer favor war
but touch me, a spell is unleashed
ill stand toe to toe with those who test me
if blood must be spilled, ill run into the breach
if im to live, i must be smart
im not big, and im only one
but my mind is sharp as any weapon
when time is ripe, ill only need my heart
so let them come and threaten
ill turn the other cheek
they just dont know, when im threatened
im as cruel as any fell beast
On The Road
By Logan Mott
on the road again
to another place i dont belong
uncertain, i fear the end
one more hell, far from home
the demons here will be foreign
already, i miss the devils i know
i hate these hard new men
but like them, ive nowhere to go
we are shifted and shuffled
traded like cattle on farms
wolves, we growl and bristle
on the bus, i glumly muesure them from afar
the family in blue is one of strangers
men of all colors, all natures
in a strange way, you come to care for them
even with all the danger
i hate this vegabonds life
home is neither here or out there
but, each of us must pay that price
when we choose to make that dare
The War
By Logan Mott
my life is an eternal war
so often, i pray it will end
but, i fear, its my only door
for the only other is oblivion
warriors take on many shapes
heros, blackguards, resistors, saints
but all too often our hearts do take
the image of the very things we hate
tormented, i fight my endless battle
focused, i struggle not to die
many times, ive greived and settled
all for the mission: survive
but if my life is war
perhaps ive already failed
for peace brings nightmarres more
and a spriit only assailed
i miss my grandmother
when i was broken, she gave peace
my life now is littered in turmoil
and her kind words i long to seek
aching, my war turns upon myself
untill theres nothing but screams
its madness here in hell
but its the only peace ive ever seen
the peace is the war
terrible it is, i will admit
im afraid to end the endless cycle
all i remember of life, this has been it
To My Father:
By Logan Mott
father, please teach me
how to be a great man
guide me in turmoil, in conflicts
through war and twisted lands
teach me to forsake anger
allow me saintliness in damnation
to keep myself among men
let me retain hope in helplessness
show me to try again
in exhuastion, keep me standing
long after the failings of better men
faced with others’ evil and wickedness
let me hold faith in the goodness of men
pray to my redemption
even as my own hope turns to despair
teach me to hold on when all is desolation
grant me your sagefull patience
when others froth over thier lost chance
deliver me from my swallowing darkness
please, hold me to open my eyes wide
let not wisdom ever blind my vision
or make me cynical or jaded
guide me past the agony and violence
to hold faith in the suns coming again
teach me to love my enemy
as they show me where i am weak
to hold belief in my action, my investments
let them be the only regard i ever seek
father, open me to be honest
and to never harken to lies
hold me to be good end honest
so i may have no regrets when i die
believe as you do in me
no matter how often i do not
teach me the lessons i cant realize or see
untill life strikes me down at dawn
always, youve helped me off my knees
and kissed my brow, undeserving as i am
it is you who guarenteed my survival in misery
who brokered my will to whisper “you can”
father, you are the spirit of my blood
the salvation of my soul, the damned
proudly, i seek your guidance
even when i could not see it
always, you taught me to be a man
God Above:
By Logan Mott
i heard god speak today
whisperred down from the clouds
under the sun, i sweated and toiled
but above was this fantastic vision
the skies were parted
allowing the blue to shine
so perfect, so unsullied
i could not help but feel lifted
at how easy it became to breathe
i am iffy on religion
often, i do not belive in god
but in hope, my despair is bested
too often, i am forced to question
my life and why it goes wrong
but then, i am confronted
by Earths beauty and song
and then, my soul is completed
so then, it matters little divinities expression
if my heart is lightened,
what does it matter the name of god?
Rage
By Logan Mott
on my face are battle scars
no doubt they will scare a child
at times, I’m troubled to wonder
at the rage boiling under my skin
control strains, taut as a wire
I can’t let them see how The Beast strains
so close, so desperate
threatening to explode from within
at times, peace feels so distant
yet outwards, my face is serene
can people see the whirlwind within?
hiding a monster behind my mocking grin.
caged, the rage bubbles.
shallow, the tempest hides
the drugs only help numb the feeling
but always, The Demon returns again
how I wish it would fade away
for my family’s sake, I need peace
if I’m to ever find redemption
I must let go of The Beast
Hands
By Logan Mott
A man lives a life for many years
And then he goes to prison.
Afterwords, ages later, he reflects on those many hard years, believing he is finished with his punishment.
But no matter what else he may do with his hands…
Love a woman….
Construct a shelter….
Wipe his daughters tears…..
His hands. remember. the punishment.
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!!”
No Comments