Marxist Thinking Revision by HorrorInNoir, literature
Literature
Marxist Thinking Revision
Revolution!
The banner for,
The Proletariat of my ambition,
Subjugated,
Beneath the bootheel
Of my Bourgeois apathy.
Salivating with determination,
Fierce, savage, thundering;
Across the steppes of my mind
Waving flags of red
Over trampled, burnt fields
Casualties of revolution
Triumphant shouts
Over the burning white flag
Of status and class
A phoenix dawn
Across an infant state
United from the ashes.
The Bells of St. Paul's Revision by HorrorInNoir, literature
Literature
The Bells of St. Paul's Revision
The mourning bell tolls
Across the bricks and shoals
Of London, old
Past pubs and roads where, many stories told
The city cold and still, left to mourn
A hero, once born
Now laid to rest,
On his nation's request
Range Rovers of black
Shouldering this armored cask
Draped by the Union Jack
To inter this son, named Slack
Below the titanic spire
Before the funeral pyre
From this once great empire,
That has fallen in mire.
The American Dream Revision by HorrorInNoir, literature
Literature
The American Dream Revision
Heading full long, across the tarmac expanse
Slender strip of black, strecthing into empty vastness
The start of this journey, across one nation
Searching for its heart, and its soul
Rolling through fields as far as the eye can see, under the gentle breeze
Clothed in green, as the money roll.
Caught by the tumultuous city, gilded in light and sparkling distraction
Founded on broken backs and splintered factions.
Speeding through small towns crammed with charm and the musings of Steinbeck
Left to rot, without gold or lead, upon piles of the long forgotten dead.
Skirting crashing waves of cold, the warm wind blows
Bringing garbage, o
Love Song in Drop D Revision by HorrorInNoir, literature
Literature
Love Song in Drop D Revision
An old guitar,
Hanging on the wall,
Collecting dust.
Catching my eye.
Battered body,
Worn neck,
Dull frets.
Paint, far gone from luster.
Walnut stained with oil
From one set
Of unskilled fingers
After another.
This old guitar
Passed from person
To person, but
Without glory or fame.
Handed off for,
The same old reason:
"Out of tune
No matter what I do."
Old strings, pulled through
Reaching out, into stagnant air
Beconing,
As aged fingers of the beggar
The sound hole peering
Pick guard, as a tear
Still, it weeps
Silent, it speaks
I take this old guitar
That has been stoic witness for too long
And left, battered and
Revolution, the policy that is needed
The Proletariat of ambition
under the boot heel
of Bourgeois apathy
A slash and burn,
Scortched earth of Red
A new state
Born of ambition
Working for success.
An old guitar,
Hanging on the wall,
Collecting dust.
Catching my eye.
Battered body,
Worn neck,
Dull frets.
Paint, far gone from luster.
Walnut stained with oil
From one set
Of unskilled fingers
After another.
This old guitar
Passed from person
To person, but
Without glory or fame.
Handed off for,
The same old reason:
"Out of tune
No matter what I do."
I see this stained body
Every crack catching the afternoon light
Dust, hanging in space.
Silence holding my breath.
Fighting my instincts, I breathe
"May I see?"
Large arms unfold accompanied by a nod
From the man behind the counter
He grasps the neck, gingerly
Shoc
Rolling fields as far as the eye can see, under the gentle breeze
Clothed in green, as the money roll.
The tumultuous city, gilded in light and sparkling distraction
Founded on broken backs and splintered factions.
Small towns crammed with charm and the musings of Steinbeck
Left to rot, without gold or lead, upon piles of the long forgotten dead.
The crashing waves of cold, the warm wind blows
Bringing garbage, oil, and evermore; ashore.
Steps of white marble, pure and just
Mired in bureaucratic bust
Plots of final rest, tranquil and clean
Costing the legacy to be left, and a family bereft.
The Big Easy sways
Left to right
Left to right
In flourish of refined
Decadence
Left to right
Left to right
Along the Mississippi's might
Light flicking like flame
As bodies pass by the panes
Raucous bedlam
To the tune of bourbon
Play on, play on
Man, play on
Dance madam, dance
To that whiskey blues
Dance madam, dance
Both of you take a bow
In the light of the rum-fired sky
Left to right
New Orleans swings
By the shores of lake Ponchatrain
She writhes
Like the madam in the window
To the golden sheen, whiskey blues
The slow moon shines
As the songs lie
Like the sun at high noon
A French Quarter tune
Below that rum-
Branches, lashing out
Clawing, as talons and Fangs
Rending with shadow
Black, writhing plague
Scarring this sanguine sky
In pure defiance,
Fighting the white lady's mailed fist
Resisting her course
'Till the last breath.