Micah Krahn Poems

Seahawks

12
Football
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Close to my house, on nearby splintered telephone poles, perch twelve black birds on a wire communicating amongst themselves about the ever-long sun setting wilderness awaiting behind them.
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Come my child and let me show you a garden of melodies. For not far from where we are is a scared, hurt, wretchedly twisted and rusted instrument. She has no name and her destiny is not known yet to her.
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Time
by Micah Krahn

Motionless He stands, neither living nor dead, but a part of both worlds.
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The most unlikeliest of poems, often come from the tastiest ideas..
When preparing food, i first wash my hands, the more soap the better.
Appliances. Waffle maker or Toaster? Toaster. Tool of choice. Stainless Steel Knife.
selecting my ingredients for my conjuration of eatery, is the next goal on my itinerary.
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A long beautiful silver angel who slices harder than a thousand screaming demons.
Her grace has befallen all who prey upon her.
Her blade fury unleashes the light as it severs through the darkness like a hushed whisper.
Mortal and Immortal gods have fallen with their brothers of humanity.
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This poem is about my experiences in the streets of Sweden.Buildings in the capitol of Stockholm, cloud the city streets; like stacked up moving boxes.
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An ancient myth tells of a once great city of Valantis, lain to ruins by the Evils of Aticus, and the eclipsing wrath of the great Poseidon, this ballad tells of the ferocious battle which ensued.

Swallowed by his legendary monstrous irate wrath, He decimated his foes with a unstoppable devastating force, forever entombing their grotesque souls into the gargoyles within the Greek God's domain.
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by Micah Krahn

The Gods have fallen from their apocalyptic cloudless heavens. Their religion no longer bind our souls together, they are no longer the voices in our heads.
Their biblical testaments are now nothing but ashen manuscripts which have finally resoluted to the endless lies. We have awaken from our dreamy realization and have declared that your Gods are nothing but wood, stone and an idea sent to demonize our world into submission to an unknown deity in which our fragile lives have been grasped in the frailty of our own weakness.
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When the Devil comes knocking, be polite or he will rip your deathless life out of your mouth,
damning your foul tongue to stone shattering all your teeth out of your head as they laugh at your torment on the cold dark sidewalk.
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