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  • Warrior of the Wasteland
    by Wordmachinist on February 24, 2009 at 1:55 AM
    1025 Views - 13 Comments

    AND  THERE WAS SILENCE.
    THE LANDSCAPE UNFOLDED IN FRONT OF HIM LIKE A NIGHTMARE
    EVERYTHING WAS DEAD...AND BROKEN.
    THE SKY WAS A CRIMSON DREAM,
    MORE DEATH THAN BEAUTY
    AND OUR HERO TRUDGED ON...
    TOWARD THE RUINS OF THE NEON METROPOLIS.

     

     

    Didn't feel like much of a hero.
    My family was most likely dead,
    and the red sky made me wonder,
    if I would live or die.
    But my boomstick was loaded,
    my machete strapped to my side.
    The leaders said we would survive this,
    but deep within...I knew they lied.

     

     

    OVER THE ROCKY CRAGS OF SUNRISE MOUNTAIN
    HE STOOD LOOKING DOWN UPON THE CITY OF SIN.
    SMOKE CURLED FROM RIOT-INDUCED FIRES
    NOW UNTENDED...THE CITY BURNED.
    PROMISES OF A UTOPIA WERE CRUSHED
    LIKE GRAVEL BOULDERS IN A LANDSLIDE.
    WITH GREAT COURAGE HE ENTERED THE EMPTY CITY.

     

     

    ...I was scared to death.
    My courage had taken a backseat.
    Bravery was riding like a shotgun sidekick,
    and I walked upon the cracked streets.
    The ghosts of screams encompassed me,
    as stopped to procure some whiskey
    Grabbed a red box and a naked lady bic,
    ventured out to see what I could see.

     

     

    THE METROPOLIS LAY IN RUINS.
    A MASS OF OVERTURNED CARS AND BUSTED GLASS.
    HE STOOD AMID A TANGLE OF DOWNED POWER LINES,
    TRANSFIXED ON A SPLINTERED WOODEN SIGN.
    SURVIVORS UNDERGROUND IT READ.
    WITH AN ARROW POINTING TO AN UNCOVERED MANHOLE.
    WOULD HE VENTURE INTO THE BOWELS OF THE CITY?

     

     

    What the fuck else did I have to do?
    I approached with a caution bordering on concern.
    Vultures circled like hawks overhead,
    and the city continued to burn.
    Darkness...beckoning me like an old friend.
    I descended with trepidation into the sewers,
    where I was greeted with unearthly silence.
    and a dagger split head badly skewered.

     

     

    A NORMAL MAN WOULD HAVE FLED,
    AND RAN SCREAMING MAD INTO THE STREETS.
    THIS MAN HOWEVER HAD AN AGENDA TO KEEP.
    TO RALLY THE SURVIVORS OF THIS CHAOS!
    TO HELP THE DYING SOULS LEFT TO BLEED.
    FOR HE STILL CARRIED THE FAINTEST OF TORCHES,
    THAT HE MIGHT SEE HIS FAMILY AGAIN.

     

     

    How was I gonna find anything in this shithole?
    Dark, dank and skittering with rats.
    All of a sudden a torch fired up,
    Illuminating the tunnel , low and flat.
    Against all reason I moved forward,
    as the corridor up ahead came to a T.
    A grey man-looking thing flashed by,
    and I pulled out my shotgun unready to flee.

     

     

    FOLLOWING THE CORRIDOR HE MOVED SLOWLY,
    TOWARD THIS TUNNELS END.
    HEARING THE RUMBLE OF MACHINERY ON THE RIGHT,
    HE STRODE WITH THE HEART OF A HERO.
    UNTIL HE CAME TO A METAL DOOR.
    TURNING THE WHEEL VALVE SLOWLY
    HE STARED IN DISBELIEF...AT THE SCENE UNFOLDING.

     

     

    I stared at the scene unfolding in disbelief.
    Hey...Is there an echo in here?
    I could make out a strange rudimentary train,
    and ashen creatures that fueled my fear.
    They reminded me of the crazies
    from that movie, Escape from New York.
    Hell...Where's Snake Plisken when you need him?
    Then one looked at me, waved, and my fueling fear sparked.

     

     

     WHAT IN GOD'S NAME WERE THESE THINGS?
    HE WONDERED IN HIS SHATTERED MIND
    WERE THEY ALIENS OR MONSTERS
    AND HAD THEY BEEN HERE THE WHOLE TIME?
    HE HAD HEARD OF MORLOCKS, FANCIFUL TALES.
    AS THE TRAIN STARTED TO RUMBLE OUT OF SIGHT,
    HE COULDN'T HELP BUT HOPE IT DERAILED.

     

     

    I did...I hoped it ran right off the fucking track!
    Despite the benevolent wave.
    The cavern around me resembled a machine shop,
    would I ever get out of this cave?
    The surface world seemed to hold no clues
    so I wandered down that stretch of bone track.
    Not knowing what terror was in store.
    Only knowing I could never go back.

     

     

    AND SO FRIENDS THE TALE ENDS WITHOUT END.
    DOES OUR HERO TRIUMPH IN HIS EFFORTS
    OR GIVE IN TO THE MADNESS AND PAIN?
    FOR I CAN TELL YOU HE LIVES TO FIND THE WAY.
    HE HAS THE HEART OF A MACHINIST
    AND THE SOUL  OF A POET...
    BUT THAT MY FRIENDS...IS A STORY FOR ANOTHER DAY.

     

     

      

     

    Copyright J. Raymond Davis

     

    THANK YOU DANIEL WRIGHT for the VOCAL TALENT!!

  • Echoes from a crumbling well
    by Wordmachinist on January 20, 2009 at 3:29 PM
    815 Views - 9 Comments

    vocal poetry


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