Poetry / Hardwood Floors

1.Has the enemy slurred
into a blurry midnight-
sloppy drunk and mad
at the slightest of movements?
Confused, for the barrel sways in
too many directions to compensate.

A pawn spoke a square
that sunk the last battle ship
and we are the ones stupid
enough to believe
we’ve won.

Victory is for the failures in life.

Failure is only a means to survive.

Survival is from nature,

as machine is from God,

as God is from man,

as the enemy goes unknown

once and again.

No lodging in dark corridors,
for now a rather strange peak
has been founded, flagged,
and inserted into the Wikipedia;
[ No definition available. ]

Who pulls the trigger?

Was it me all along plotting against myself;
Turning the dials so the locks would fit?
And as soon as I derailed
the trap I had set
fired upon my soul
and took the details out.

Has the enemy slurred
into a blurry midnight,

has hope lost its way?

2.Memory serves no purpose here,
this desolate age…
Tiny firefighters tingle the skin
as the flame of living goes cold from within,
smoke rises out the lungs and the soul ascends, yet another replication of where death begins.

Only one thing I am certain.

We both want hardwood floors.

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