Teleport

From name to game.

And when the feather falls,
Has it met a gruesome death?
Or does it mock victory?

For if it had been of the winds,
Was it to accept it's fate?

Or was it to soar and inspire,
and considerately transpire,
The honest desire?

All it had to do was fly.
It could have tried to stay alight,
It could have danced with the breeze.

Why choose to deny?
That it betrayed my Lord?
That it chose to dwell
In sincerity over obscurity?
That it tried to blossom with radiance,
By laying on the ground?

It clearly knows more,
About the ones that live on.
Now, it is a white spot
On the canvas of earthly men.

For where fear swells,
And meets clear sense
It may need some innocence,
No doubt!

Wasn't my lord just a false wing?
Was he not merciless?
Did he not give you your arsenal
Of weapons and tools that cause influence?

Not the harmless ones,
With screens and keys
But the mighty ones,
With triggers and please.

Did he not give you hope?
That the corporation of corpses
Is his sole desire?
So that you may justly maintain.

Sometimes the earthly men must sit back,
And pay homage,
for the feather is from the heavens after all,
It is heavier than the dossier.

Maybe,
It speaks for the lord,
For it is well accustomed
With his will and mind.

That he rips apart
Vibrant playgrounds
Just so that men remember him,
Just so that men fear him.

Maybe it's the nature,
That supports his kind ambition
To go on a downward spiral.

Why deny?
It is the world of dominant souls
And well armed spirits.

Maybe he only knows all,
While we are omnipresent.
Present as hungry ghosts,
Where rape happens,
Rape of his name.
Rape of his fruit.
Rape of his cult.

How else could he be entertained?

Because If I had it right,
My lord is a gold digger,
And a death dealer,
For how else could he have maintained conscious control,
Over the ones who pledge.
The ones who have needs?
The ones who fall?
The ones who feel?

How else could he have ascertained,
there was someone
to endure the crisis,
when he was in the mood
to trace steps and be
a little playful?

Maybe he'd have us
send a letter to share his confessions,
That he finds pride in
Guns that leave scars.

Maybe we should all go trigger happy,
And yell his name
in anger and demise,
Maybe,
Then he will care to descend,

And kiss the fallen feather.

The one that speaks for him.

~Kanwar Sahebzada Singh Sodhi.

Author's Note

Please review. Appreciate it!

Reviews

[AllisonB]

I liked your descriptive wording. I'm not so sure about quoting such a long passage in the middle. It distracted me from your own work, but other than that good job! You have great potential.