Take Flight

 

Close your eyes, drug your senses,

feel the wind scorch your face,

cling on tight, ready for our fight

***

as our dragon soars over forests of war;

as we cling to his scales, vibrate from his roars

***

smell the sulphur engulf us as clouds

open fire, their acid-rain melting

through airplanes and drones

that attack with dictatorship,

hatred and fear.

***

Religious fervour wears au-de-murder:

Children rotting, limbs detached,

innocent heads hang from the trees,

drip-feed the earth as Vitamin Pain.

Women weep, raped and beaten;

eyes hollow, they pray

for death’s hand on their throat.

***

As our dragon soars

and roars and snarls,

our  growing Eutopia

is suddenly Outopia;

***

as our dragon swoops low

he spits fire at the beasts

that demolish our peace,

our power, our time.

***

He tears them to ribbons

with claws glistening red;

he crunches on bones

 

with fangs sharp as razors.

***

Their screams die half-formed,

as we tremble with rage.

Too late we land and stand

in the massacre

of our people, our friends,

our freedom, our hope.

*** ***

Copyright © 2017 Hannah Edge. All rights reserved.

Image rights: sashulka.deviantart.com/art/Dragon-s-flight-402283943

 

 

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Airmail

Hoard your feelings

in this mouldy cardboard box.

Wrap them shut

with a cow’s intestines;

add its leather as a label

and send to Madagascar

***

where the lemurs can chew,

claw at the memories

and scents and tastes, devouring

your emotions until the pain

fades

away.

*** ***

Copyright © 2017 Hannah Edge. All rights reserved.

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Does Insanity Cause Creativity

Or does creativity cause insanity?
Our wandering

mind 

lusts for gems,

jewels, poetic gold-dust.

***

We crawl through the tunnels,

the warrens, the burrows;

smothered and swallowed

by horrors a-plenty.

Drowing in visions

of murder and rape,

Swimming against currents

frothing with blood;

engulfed in a hurricane

of tears from all victims.

***

Cannot contain, cannot ignore.

Our knees buckle, we crumble

until we dare hold our pen.

*** ***

Copyright © 2017 Hannah Edge. All rights reserved.

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Silver-Streaked Wolf

Hot stench of raw, dead, rotten

fowl.  Tongue lolls against my bare

neck.  Gutteral growl, teeth glisten,

drip with blood and entrails.

Bloodied claws dig through my torn

tshirt .  Such a weight upon me –

I stagger, stooped but determined

to take the weight of my inner ferocity.

*** ***

Copyright © 2017 Hannah Edge. All rights reserved.

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