another dead
upon my head
i do so dread
when they've been fed

Play the drum roll!
Enlist the naive
young men who played
             hockey and lacrosse
                       in high school.
Who got laid at
                their proms.
Drank with their buddies.
Planned their futures.
Dreamed their dreams.
Tell them they have to
                 defend freedom.
Play them songs of
             heroism and pride.
Show them pretty
pictures of foreign women.
Insist they should be
proud of such a “career”.
'The few and the brave! '
'The mighty and proud! '
Dress them in the
       same green uniform.
Shout at them.
        Destroy their
                 will to think.
Give them guns and
            banners to carry.
Make up an enemy,
        teach them to hate.
Send them far away
to a country they've
            read about in
                    magazines.
March them.
Parade them.
Deploy them.
Set them against
other young men
who were dreamed
into the same nightmare.
Let the two sides
             come into battle.
The ultimate hero
contest for young men!
Brittle bombs.
Knives, destruction.
A good cause!

When you are finished
             using their youth,
send some of them home
        shattered and afraid.
Keep some for tomorrow's
               new headline war.
For the dead, send home
         a flag to their mothers.
Don't forget to tell
           the grieving families
                   that their sons
                                   died
                             for freedom!

Far way on a Banyan tree
Feeding her little ones three
With a wish to see them grow
The Mother feeds crow crow
Knowing that one day they will flee
Through her chimney's upper opening
Mili, see this happening
With a flow through her cheeks
The Mother feels bleak bleak
Mourning of her forlorn living

distance could grow all the "i love yous" to "i miss yous"

this may not even be a poem but
i miss you

When depression strikes,
A door for poetry opens.

The door that lets out the misery
The pain that keep hurting me
In turn invites public sympathy
By posting some of these poetry

Poetry that grew, from the feelings I have taken out.
Poetry that nourished, from the tears that I have shed
Poetry that would die down as times passes by.

And what I hope for,
Is when the leaves of my peotry starts to fall to the ground
My heart would be healed from the pain that once surround.

I feel so *****, I feel so tired
At times too, I feel so empty and uninspired.

This time too. I feel so *****, coz i am
I cannot wash away that dirt that covers me
Thus let me just rest, and say goodbye.

Let me **** myself in poetry
The suicide thoughts that keeps haunting me
The misery that keeps drowning me
I will let it all out in this piece of poetry

I am starting to hate myself
I know I have the ability, for what it's worth
But I keep stumbling and falling
All by myself

I feel sorry to my parents
For they have provided me everything they could give
I feel sorry to God
For I know he had blessed me with so much more than I am worth

I know killing isn't the solution
But

I hate myself That I want to hurt it
Inflict pain and **** it.

But I know a lot of people still loves me
Caring and is waiting for me

So to let out my anger
Let me **** myself in this poetry
Yes, with this poem I have died.

I have killed myself in poetry,

Now I shall go back stronger, to face my reality.

Our hearts,
So much like trees
The heart dies a slow death
Each hope,
A leaf
They all blow away,
One by one
Till nothing is left

The fly on my finger says, “it’s gonna rain.”
So the spy ‘round the bend screams, “RUN!”

I try, but I step on a nail; therefore – I cease, I die,
And am born once more, Come the dead been before.

That’s when those days became a “pitter-patter,”
So let it sink, and I’m not so innocent anymore.

I’d blame the cat that crossed my path, it wasn’t black,
I’d blame the hat that drew her eye, but I wouldn’t;

I’d only run, flee, I’d heed the call of “Lawrence,”
So that bells could ring and wings be granted.

The ground looks so
     Appetizing
     From up this high
         I wanna find out if I can ******* fly

I wanna feel something before I hit the
      Bottom
                     I would love to relish in your blood-soaked nirvana

      I made you as comfortable as possible while you slit my throat
          I may be dead but my
   Wings are sewn with a different thread of gristle and bone

    If redemption is real and I have time to ****,
      I wonder how the fall will

         *Feel

Your eyes-
coal black fire
mirrors of my desire

Your mouth-
warm bath of oaths
bespoken for

Your *******-
rouged red-bullet tipped
honeysuckled bliss

Those hips-my reins
move you the way
I need you most

and your kiss-
like a hiss from a dip
of a branding iron

burn me with your lips
and make me yours-
ride me into the abyss

-of sighs.

r ~ 9/25/14