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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Thursday, 10 October 2013

The meadow.

Trees lounge within fair gaps-
stout in height and uniquely canopied.
The clouds; a rainbow glow,
peek through the pores of the canopies.

Beneath the trees in the stolen light,
A man docks behind a trunk-
raising gusts of clouds from his smoke pipe,
most of it sinking into his husk.

An eclipse forms up,
turning day to night,
shadows into pitch black silhouette,
and a sniper afar turns on night vision.

Who miles away behind-
a trunk left sleeping by his enemy.
He takes deep breaths to focus,
in strive to take down the tree slayer.

POW! He fires his first cheap shot.
missing by inch, awakening his opponent-
who drops his pipe in shock and flees.
POW! A debatable second shot.

The tirade of massacre commences,
incorporated with hide and seek-
a game for the meek,
or so we might think.

The sniper fires away; POW!
strikes the axe pellet,
tipping the slayer off his flow.
then behind another trunk he ducks low.

He locates his opponent,
ponders his next movement,
then darts towards the flowing stream down south
as the sniper struggle to reload his gun.

Revamped and reloaded,
the sniper sits his gun onto the trunk and pauses,
Patiently, like he were about to take out a deer.
But in his sight, a clear view of nearing fear,

his enemy is no where to be seen.

Off the stream and onto land,
the slayer wastes no time and sneaks forth.
He bates his enemy with calm talk,
drawing him closer for a gory shot .

“Who sent you?”
POW! The sniper fires a flimsy shot in distress,
then struggles to stand and wave his gun in search.
“I come as an ‘earth keeper’.”

“What for, trees or human corpses?”
The sniper fires once again; POW! POW!
then walks into the arms of death,
as he nears the fatal tree trunk.

Where in a split second,
the slayer’s axe swings though his neck
and into the tree were it dug deep-
atop which, the snipers head lay.

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