Day 299

The capture

To the hill

Huge success

Operation

For those involved.

Day 298

The light

Is the way

From work

To work

In the circle

Of cyclic life.

Day 297

Running in circles

The words of few

Jumping in circles

To find a truth.

Day 296

I think I'll stay

For a good time

In this land

It's almost an art

For myself

Sitting on the wings

Watching the show

Unfold.

Towards a time

I see the truth

Of the fire you hold

Before the cave

The darkness encroaching

The flame dies

As the dark beings

March to victory.

Day 295

The beating wings

Of intense heat

In the land of battle

You see not

What can be seen.

Day 294

Whirring tags

Flying above

Head of a boy

Who knows

Not what it means.

Day 293

Thanks

To the giving

Of the giver

To the know er

Which waits to know

The truth in reality.

Day 292

A flower grows

Outside the yard

In Brooklyn flourishing

Like a pot to flame

A poor mouse burning.

Day 291

Flying

Like a redwood

Of leaves in the grass

A snake of sorts

Slithering

For the kill.

Day 290

Speed of light

Navigating the dots

Across the wild darkness

Over yonder

Secrets of the mind

Lost in the war

At the

Speed of Light.

Day 289

Flying

In a state

Of power

Of grace

And ease

Of need.

Day 288

Fluid, fluid

Spoke the poet

More, more

Spoke the poet

Five more times (with feeling)

Spoke the poet.

Day 287

Growing pain

Spreading

The sooner

Before the later

Growing

Growing

Growing

Growing

Day 286

The ocean

Roaring waves

Of aquatic love

Lapping the feet

Of the people

For their good.

Do they know?

Can they know?

Why this is?

Day 285

Just keep pushing

Just keep traveling

Until you find the button

To push.

Day 284

Rushing wind

Like water in the air

Less gentle than a breeze

Or an aqueduct

Of everything we see.

Day 283

Constants walking

Off the side

Of the world

Into a sea

Of nothing

Devouring life

In a fire

You can't

See.

Day 282

Sight dying

Everything out of mind

For my only

Lonely day

Out of mind

Day 281

Losing the soul

Of all that is

To all that never was

What a greater pain

Then one that cannot be imagined?

Day 280

On a peak

What a long drop

The ease of falling

Where pain

Penetrates not

Into the abyss

Of the human soul.

Day 279

Understanding slipping from

The insane darkness

Of the trolling lines

Which the man

Sit and see

For their folly

They never see a dime

For the err of man

Is there never a penny

Yet still they show

By dozens

Ants at a meal

To catch a single picture

Of what all is

A day in the life

Of a single being.

Day 278

They say a drink

Remedies all

Except for the

Chronicles of war.

Father, one of my man wrote this to me the other day and I am curious of what you think about this bit of poetry.

Your revolutionary son,

Benedict Wellington

Day 277

Stressful thoughts

Rising in succession

From wave to wave

Like a submarine

On the surface of land

Flying through the land

A yellow surface

Ice cracking beneath

The weight of you and me.

Day 276

You know they say you never know what it's like to shoot a gun before you stand in front of a man, your adrenaline pumping, while he aims to kill. The weight of the gun and the pack on your back is enough to hinder your thought. By this I mean it becomes absolutely clear that if you don't shoot first you will be going home in a body bag. That weight is just enough to at the very least have kept my mind from wondering and allowing me to live. Others weren't so lucky like those who faced me. Every day now I see there faces wrapped in a blood curdling scream and I know that when I die they shall be there to meet me once more.

Even before entering this hell house I was one damned good marksman. You know those carnival gun games that are rigged with terrible sights? Let's just say that the guy there didn't know what to make of me. He was clearly impressed but seemed relieved to be free of me once he gave me my teddy bear. I then made the teddy bear do a victory dance. Make of that what you will but keep in my mind that the biggest bad ass in this room is staring you down. That bear is no longer among us like many of my comrades. That was my story, what my whole life was. A bear and some killing.

Sometimes I wonder, was it worth it? Then I look at all of you, how you are still alive, how you can still laugh, smile and play and I realize that it was all more than worth it. Perhaps I do only say this because I was lucky enough to get out alive but I genuinely think that. This is why I am here in front of you today.

I wish to start a new life and I hope that you, ladies and gentleman of the Commission for the Lives of the People, will allow me start anew starting with a change from professions. I genuinely hope that you will allow my request through.

Your Loyal Soldier,

Benedict Wellington

Day 275

Red

Seeing on the plain

Sprouting like flowers

All that is left

Red.

Day 274

A slipping of thought

In the mind

I cannot realize

Where my soul

Has gone slipping,

They've all gone slipping

Away.

Day 273

Shorten your arms

They're weakening

Like the slipping of days

Away.

Day 272

Where's the future

Your mother once held

So dear in the flames

Of adoration

At the cliffs of nothing

For the benefit

Of he who walks

By night?

Day 271

You call this

A home

When I can make

Those ugly tributes

To the Muse

As well?

What home

Is a home

If there are no tributes

Of beauty and joy

To the Muse?