Weapons – Interactive Poetry

~ Allison Nicole

Danica gave me the words sophistication, knife, mud, and glasses for my interactive poetry.
For some reason, I had an extremely hard time coming up with something for these words. But, here’s what I came up with!

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Our weapons of choice
will decide our voice-
Whether our lives are heard
or felt.

A sense of sophistication
can elude from the barrel of a gun.
The loud, sudden sound
warns of what’s been dealt.

Yet the silence of a knife
can end a life
with no noise to be made-
but the pain will surely show.

But once your weapon
has been chosen
and you put it to use,
the storm inside will grow.

Puddles will appear
as contorted looking glasses
twisting and conforming
your once familiar face
into something unknown.

Your mind will begin to flood
as the ground turns to mud.
You can’t seem to stand straight.
You slip and you stumble-
as you’re sinking-
as you’re drowning.

Drowning in the depths
of your once clear thoughts
Drowning into the darkness
clouding your judgment.

The choice is not
whether or not to choose a weapon.
It’s which weapon
you’d rather use.

16 thoughts on “Weapons – Interactive Poetry”

      1. Sorry it seems to be an error in my programming that I say the opposite of what I mean for mild comedic effect, provocation and mental rabble rousing. This only applies to the first half of my second sentence in my first comment šŸ˜œ

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          1. I think I was attempting to say that you put forward a beautiful expression of the inherent issues of engaging in violence as a response to an upset and you do this with intelligence, compassion, empathy and insight..
            Going to try and practice saying what I mean…..

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          2. Oohhhh hahaha, I was reading it in a completely different way and I was having a hard time grasping your concept. I see what you’re saying now lol. I’m sorry.
            I thought you understood my poem completely wrong and took it offensively. But what you said was exactly what I was trying to express. Thank you haha.

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  4. Friggin great little write, nailed the words you were given

    I creep with jaded vision, the graves of forgotten memories underfoot as blood red glasses paint all the same shade of guilt and shame
    Edges of blades refine to simple truths the sophistication of our lies, the mud like remains of better intentions stain with as much pain
    But the damning remark of a true slice of hell, which creeps on graveyards and keeps happy resurgence underfoot, stains the days
    Is in the knife I place between the skin of your back, the blackened ooze of corrupted visions that runs down the skin and tastes of sin
    I am what the world created and with remorseless robotic minds I will pay back the debt, with no such pity and ruthless charm
    So if you see the gleam of a smile on the twisted face I project, it is just the happiness I wish to kill, reflecting off the knife you drove deep
    My back you made bleed
    My hope you killed
    Now I must return the favour
    And take the broken fragments you owe me

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