Young Writers Society

mastering.the.cut

I am heavy of the mind
and running out of ways
to understand the black leaguing
battalions launching greek fire
into my battlements:
armed with the old cracked men
and little boys their heads
already on pikes.

I splintered myself open,
rib-bones shattering at sudden
impact of centred trebuchets;
(scalpel in hand, to cut away
at heart and lungs.) to scourge the
scorched earth, to do away with
the yellow-sickly pulp.

cannon fodder, I’ve made myself,
I cannot escape that. but I am tired-
oh-so-tired, my limbs weak and worried,
of this dissension -

this fracas of mouth and mind.