Coney Killing . . .

There I was, trudging amongst the sage (brush that is) eyes darting all around. The icy wind cut through the many layers i wore. It chilled the soul and froze the very marrow of my bones. Nothing moved, but the occasional fluttering of a bird, or the calm sway of the large bushes. The steam from my breath was dampening the face mask from my coat, making anything I said an unintelligible mumble.
To my left strode Joe, Uncle Joe. To my right, Dave, Dave Jones: my step-dad. we all walked in an eerie silence. The cannons we cradled in our arms were just as cold as the wind, the weight of them bore down on our arms. We walked for what felt like hours, hours of nothing, just uneventful minutes, seconds, and moments of life passing me by.
In my mind a fierce battle was going on, my carnal beast-like state fighting my conscience.
Can i do it? the thought bombarded my skull.
Of course you can, you are a man, be the man!
Really? ok.
It happened all at once, the bushes rattled, a brown streak erupted from the stale green leaves and bolted around a nearby bush. My reflexes were too fast, the gun was up in no time. A crack shot but an accurate one . . . sort of. It wasn't a fatal shot the poor rodent was clambering around like crazy. I got one if its legs. I couldn't finish it, I told Joe to take the shot, he aimed, shot, missed: it was thrashing too much. I had to do it.
I slowly approached it. i couldn't get too close.
"closer" Joe's voice echoed in my brain.
"Closer, the shotgun can't take it from that far away, get closer."
I slowly approaches the pitiful beast. Took a slow aim, my gut was aching with sick. I closed my eyes, opened them just long enough to shoot. My eyes slammed shut again, i looked away and breathed deep. I'd never killed anything before. I felt sick and dizzy. I kept walking, almost pacing, soon the feeling past. I went and looked at the kill. it lay in a surprisingly whole way: only its rear leg I took off with the first shot was missing. IT was done. I'd gotten a Bunny. What a first.

The Block

All Excitement and thrill of rushing to the computer to post a new blog is quickly stifled every time I try. After the quick and easy trip to the computer, logging onto my profile, and setting up a new post... Stop. Nothing. Nothing comes I sit, Rack my brain and beg anyone who will listen for a small topic to write about. Still, Nothing. The clock's ticking and toc-ing Rubs the sad fact that I have nothing to write about in my face. *sigh* every time after a few minutes of pondering The same revelation comes back to me: Nothing. Slowly and rather self-dejectedly I log off and go find some other less useful way of spending my time.
But alas all of the many failing tries have paid of and have actually been building up to this grand moment where it has actually given me something to write about. Now I can rant and rave freely as my brain's creative juices flow and spill the wonderful words onto the screen. . . . . .



Nothing.

Savior

Ensnared.

Pictures swirl through mind and heart

Lost in the memories of yesterday

Darkness tries to sweep in

Constantly there, trying to bite, to catch and trap

Accomplishing the impossible

Pushing out light and overpowering

Taking control of everything

Trapped amidst the lies and falsehoods

Chained and bound

Whipped with guilt and anger

Wars and hate

Love is gone

Nowhere to be found in the sea of sin

No one comes to free me yet

No one comes to save

But I do not doubt the coming light

I know it is on its way

Soon enough the dark will leave

The anger say and lonely too

Vindication comes swift crying

Freedom Love and Mercy

Dark had never won

The light had never gone

Breathe and sight jus hindered

By mist’s daunting billows

Singing praises to their Lord

Their Savior.

Their Friend.

No one is alone anymore

The righteous saved for faith

Taken to the place of God

Never lost again.

Liberated!

Reign of Bullets

Reign of Bullets

Bullets, corrupting, disrupting, killing

Bullets rain down like hail: destroying

Bullets unseen by Public eye, but heard by every ear.

Consumed, absorbed, and taken to heart,

No second thoughts of what they have heard.

Kings in control, spitting out bullets over the land,

Adding to their enemies, as they add to their armies.

They spit out “freedoms” amidst other lies called “truth”

Any who;

Challenge, question, or stand against,

Brought straight down:

A “terrorist” with a bullet in their head.

Sky and land go dark,

The reign continues to spread:

The Reign of Bullets

Do what they tell you, that is the message

That comes from the mouths of the dominant

Black,

With bullets that continue to pour

As speeches continue on more and more

Silence from the feeble, that is what they want

The weak can’t have power

But when the small take control, speak out or fight

What?

Death, more injustice, or just a cage?

Damnation to traitors?

Or

Damned nations of lies?

Give the powerless Power

The defenseless Defense

To the voiceless

A Voice

~ Eric Littlewood