Least Read Dystopian Poems

He scrubs off the dust
Stock-piling on the shelves of his mind
His battles with writer’s block
Has disrupted and crippled him blind

He perfects his deserted wooden partner
Freeing her of idle hands imprisoned in webs
So many masterpieces were birthed on her mahogany
Stitched together with his will and the ink of his quill’s threads

He ignites his candle
Indenting its motives on her corner
He fishes his pond for his thoughts
Never quite understanding his bait is a foreigner

He opens the gates
That has been...

with a grind, than a halt
sunburst chariots falter
glistening in the shade
of harmony.

beholden and drastic
casualties of conflict
quivering jawline, darting eyes
from beneath a masquerade
spoken in phrases of peace

trumpets blare, bombs burst
indiglow clouds passing by
arsenic and old lace, no trace
to be left...just a frown that evades
the teardrop from a clown.

no quarter given, no resistance taken.
for bravery is our mission.
when the trumpet sounds, hooves
will shake...