#259 (annihilation)

a landscape of trauma smouldering craters too many tears yet the heat took them all the cruelty of the bomb that simple, fatal promise of annihilation reverberated on sooted foreheads glistening with sweat and fresh blood there is no beauty here it was raped by the maelstrom of collective hate and the weakness of individual … Continue reading #259 (annihilation)


#205 (feeding bullets)

  no bread we laced their meals with lead feeding bullets to a generation touched by death the cruel illusion of being protected yet metal does not know compassion   © Matthias Geh, 17th February 2018  

#197 (a meaning in cruelty)

small hands broken before they even learnt how to hold a pen or grab a spoon a blind spot silenced history an abandoned generation left to find a meaning in cruelty their frightened whispers echoe through the decades searching for answers to questions most won't even dare to ask small hands broken before they have … Continue reading #197 (a meaning in cruelty)

#135 (within the cup of quiet grace)

♥ the night was old all stories told as chastity had long been sold the mirrored passion in her gaze entranced him in a scarlet haze he drank it all the tears and sweat his restless fears, doubt and regret within the cup of quiet grace he glimpsed a single solemn face the queen of … Continue reading #135 (within the cup of quiet grace)

#119 (accountants of misery)

  dribble one silken drop missed the tip of his tongue he's parched senseless wandering the wasteland of withheld wishes the sound of shells crunching under his feet shattering like his illusions relinquished splinters cut into his bare soles leaving a scarlet trail in wet sand nowhere nobody singing for the lost ones gone astray … Continue reading #119 (accountants of misery)

#92 (feeding fires in frost)

• kiss me under the stars trace my blanket of scars rest your lips on my neck ease your chin to my back • feeding fires in frost singing songs of the lost spinning tales from the dark while my hands caress bark • willow trees catch the cold within sap flow we hold our … Continue reading #92 (feeding fires in frost)

#90 (on top throned a petal)

… noon was stretching its pale claws made of smoke and exhaustion I've seen my lover die under a big, flat tire cuz' he tripped on some sleet his feet caught in a wire and his head hit the street … how my tears have grown cold throughout wanderin' the valleys of sorrow how my … Continue reading #90 (on top throned a petal)