What do you think of my poem?

Question

"Mars, Bringer of War"

Red to the wrists he smiles, resists
The urge to seek his spoils and runs
Once more to the line, the cattle
Creaking in their old boots and thin
Courage, men now children in the fray,
Hidden behind rusted helmets and
Shaking simple spears - this is no sport
But it will do - quickly he comes and
Darkens their eyes, first with a shadow
And then with a veil drawn by stained
Fingers that smell of dirt and iron,
Hard hands setting throats to singing
With a slit and beating bone to dust
And drumbeats as they split for the
Hammer and the hilt, heavy and low
Sounds from the lowing of the animals
Sacrificed to this angry bloodhand god.

He hurries now, red to the breast and drowning,
Casting away the sword and shield to take them
With his hands, a wave of muscle, rage and teeth
Against mortal fear and humility, the wild eyes
Hypnotic in the moonlight, the long hair loose
And on fire behind him as he forces eyes from
Their round and comfortable caves, parts jaws
Until their breaking booms as thunder, stealing
Language, loose mouths above empty eyes, these
Hopeless, these helpless, a drawn arm from a
Penitent corpse handled and swung, crushing
Throats and forcing ribs through sweaty bodies,
These bones drawn, these very bones, with a need
And a twist in the night he births daggers
For the gutting, drawn down the front while
Useless arms flail and protest, up the groin
And to the breast they run, these splinters
To cool the sunburts hearts and hail winter
With burnt history and the smell of metal.

And their blood it surrounds him, swells to him
A storm of lost potential and steaming life,
Screaming from pools and thick rivulets
That it may bathe him
And stain his skin,
An upwards sort of rain drawn magnetic
To paint his eyes and bless his heart
In celebration of the fallen feast,
A slaughter song silent in the night.

Falling upon full fields they die
They die and bring life back
To their first mother, the hungry
Mistress that she may recline,
And decline, and in time again
Spit fools upon her chest
To nurture, observe,
And consume.

All divinity a hunter, and every man a meal.

Answer 1

u sure its ur....if its then u r a good writer/poet

Answer 2

I can see where your comming from. But i had to read it over again,just to make sure .I found it quite sad, but with a cause.For some i think it could be very complicated to understand,although if they took time to ,they would enjoy it .very good,but,exellent if it were easier to understand.Keep writing.

Answer 3

Wow! This is fabulous! Imagery is vivid and beautiful. I'm hoping you copyrighted this. You should submit to a journal or magazine, if you haven't already.

Answer 4

Nice!

Answer 5

its good - you are also brave to post it.
recommend you look at some work by Shane Koyczan.

Answer 6

I like it...You have a talent if you did this yourself

Answer 7

wicked ! dude..