Jesus, Girls, and Rolling With the Punches [CW][A collection of poetry]

[Chase]

Poem dumps seem to be the rage these days. I suck at them, so this aught to be fun.

To you, for you know who you are...and I don't.

Brandishing a Sword at a Man With No Arms

Hope, remorse, cheer, forlorn,

Where is the world that you have reborn?

How is something ever so small,

supposed to recover from such a great fall?

Is it through effort in all of our works,

or through our faith as we unplug our corks?

How is someone invested in victory,

subjected to endless living in misery?

How is one who learns from defeat,

one who's deemed favored and shares my seat?

How is the sea always so blue,

yet is to be argued of a different hue?

Is it through eyes as we look overboard,

or through our minds as we are attached by a cord?

Why is it that we live with pain,

when several worse others find nothing but gain?

Is it through fairness, kept hidden by Thine,

or is it through lies, from this mouth of mine?

Loves, deaths, a crown, made of thorn,

I live in the world, that you both have Reborn...

[Chase]

Brunhild the Deathless

Right, left, right, left,

Footfalls down the trenches.

Cannonfire, pounding heart,

and dreams of safe park benches.

Smash, crash, whack, crunch,

Shattered glass on the road.

Vehicles stop, people rush,

and life's become a load.

News, shock, frantic haste,

tears begin to flow.

blood boils and heart races,

nothing is white as snow.

If all you called home was stolen and ruined,

You too would come to fear,

The only things that keep you moving,

are the things that seemingly disappear.

[Chase]

How the West Was Won

I never said it would be easy, but the winnings aren't measly,

said the barkeep lookin' sleazy, as he filled my cup with more.

Now Gordon was a fellow, who ain't known for being mellow,

would enthuse the color yellow, just to cause my eyes to sore.

I struggled much to take a listen, to his hasty proposition,

had to see what I was missin', of this illustrated lore.

Soon horses I unhitched, mounting saddles I hand stitched,

leaving barkeep very ticked, as I rode off out to shore.

Hours I had invested, by the sunlight I was tested,

till I found the treasure nested, and I dug into it's core.

I've since had things to run, and had countless bouts of fun,

put my hair up in a bun, 'neath the bonnet that I wore.

and that's why I'm the best, to ever come from way out west,

and now I think I'll take my rest, because this trochee's now a bore.

Soon, I may give you more.