Dark armies

They have arrived
monsters under cover of three pieces
including tie and a good old book. 

A great star of light and life still shines
far above the darkening land
perhaps it waits to pounce at last. 

They are closing on to the innocent
faces of grins and mocking smiles
as they take another step too close. 

Skins ooze with a stranger perfume
bellies swollen by decades of self-satisfaction
legs wobble under the ignorant mass. 

Fist of fat fingers in the air almost unable to close
they protest and scream at the living
who still believe in loving a neighbor. 

Speaking mighty words twisted into lies
of course, only they know the truth
that it is others who hide their ugly souls. 

Under semi human features scarred by their blindness
they point accusing cannons and semi-automatics
at those in sterilized outfits. 

Since when must the good die 
at the hands of such evil, attempting
to take over a world surrendered to unavoidable death. 

Monsters on two varicose infested legs
speaking the tongue of tyrants
their pleasure in the demise of the gentle multitude. 

They are here with their vociferous blaspheme
speaking in the name of a god they ignore
until he too will perish in the realm.



 
One Thousand Feet below
 
One hundred years since they last saw sunlight
squatting in the last car of the E train
a home made into the castle of meek desires.

On an adventure the little ones in their embalmed suits
scavenge for a daily pittance a resurrected treasure
they will return later if they can recall the signs. 

Reclined on the stretcher of faded orange hues
spotted with what may be crimson polka dots
a matriarch holds hands with gasping breaths.

Keeping watch for the sake of a past when
they could provide for the sustenance of a tribe
shadows of lost generations motion in silence.

Driven by the language of grunts and groans
disheveled into some inorganic mush
the mirrors reveal the deep void of empty faces.

Perhaps they recollect a humanity deep within
as they escaped the apocalypse of a stilled planet
there they will stay without hope and only an everlasting death. 


 


The last gamble

The realm has become a casino it seems
a place to play Russian roulette around the buffet
of luxury foods and rusty slot machines. 

High rises everywhere have filled with infinite greed
neon lights flicker as if they knew something
they too, hesitant to blare even a whisper of joy. 

Marching into the green deserts of lush meadows
they shed armors to omniscient perils
to claim with folly unbound an unlikely victory. 

The house always wins, gun loaded 
with a weapon certain to reach a soul
a senseless gamble indeed to live. 

Their skins will fall into rotting rags
the flesh will follow into a pool of decay
stench contagious to the core of these dying hearts. 

Little did they want to hear that they were sure to lose
crushed under the crumbling illusion
that they could gamble with the universe and win.

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Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review, as well as other publications.   

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