The Sound of Guns

January 26, 2013 at 9:57 pm (history, literature, philosophy, Poems, poetry, politics, sociology) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Parricide is not pretty,

but in a time of swallowed splinters,

there emerges a new confidence,

and no one is safe from

the absolute certainty of the Crack.


When anger is awake and ungoverned

the Almighty Metal Guru draws near to tease.

The wheel turns as young wreakers and hoakers,

already tucking boredom in their belts,

dash through familial barriers

straight into the Crack’s improbable deathhole.


Suddenly, we are all prey:

heavy weights flailing and falling

past previously pitted lives

towards our own bloody demise.


Unable to climb smooth surfaces

society begins to fester,

scraping the walls with botulinal nails;

kicking itself with blister boots.


Oh, those ugly days of lost heritage;

elders supping tears together, whilst

so many futures are crossed

by the star thin silver reticle

of the Almighty Crack.



  1. julespaige said,

    While there is much darkness, I try to look for the light – even with the different machines than men make that seem to do more damage than good.

    • Julia Dean-Richards said,

      I love the differences between us all. Always keenly aware of the dark, the light I see is reflected off the sharp edge of beautiful black glass. It’s not a bad place to be, and I gather love around me like a warm blanket.

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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