The universe is infinite
and so is your potential
And I know sometimes
all you feel is infinite sadness
and infinite hatred
but I swear everything
will ...
be ...
infinitely
okay.

Don't tell me that no one will care
because they will.
Don't tell me we'll move on
when you know we won't.
Don't tell me that you're okay
when you have the rope in your hands.
Because,
Death,
is felt by all those who care.
You'll say I'm only doing this to myself
or I've felt pain much worse than this
or give yourself some other ******* lie
to cover for your exit,
your escape,
your stairway out of hell.
Well guess what?
If death is grief, hatred, tiredness, and
disappointment in what you've seemed to fail at doing, then I guess I've all already dug my grave

Right

Next

To

Yours.

Because I'm not letting go of the people I care about.
And I'm willing to fight for every second
they breathe.
You say you're pulling me down
but I'm the one holding my ground
not willing to let you sink
to the bottom you think
you've already hit.
Death,
is enviable,
And I feel it everyday
when I talk to you.
But I don't mind.
I like the pain
just like you.
It may not be the same kind,
but it definitely feels the same.
And,

I

Love

It.

My Middle East is torn
Divided into sects and stones
Desert full of rage
Ancient cities bearing witness to atrocities
In the name of the merciful
Let the killing begin
Seek justice in an afterlife
For God is deaf

Ceasefire!
long enough to bury her face
Under the classroom's desk
Or onto her dead mother's chest
Nameless casualties in numbers
Gaze at the brilliant night sky
Rain of shells, rekindling the dark-ages
No truce is left
For God is deaf

The Father carried his young one
A lifeless log returned to earth
Faith unshaken among shouts and prayers
Let the words avenge you
Curse the creator in whispers
And spiral not into an uncharted nihilistic ground
Fuel your hate
For God is deaf

Commemorate the dead
With roses on their heads
Or with poems on their gravestones instead
Morality embedded in poetry, blood is shed
Humanity on trial
Blame not my words
For God is deaf
And in my Middle East
He remains,
Undead.

I remember sitting outside
the steel-tracks,
hidden under the nets.
Stars would peek through
the fluttering radar-resistant leaves
& an occasional warthog
would do a flyby.
We'd smoke (not literally) & joke,
tell funny stories to keep our morale high.
Every now and then,
we'd talk about a dead comrade
or a lost sweetheart.
I never let them boys see me cry,
but I did,
usually in the bent arm
of my ACU's.
Sometimes my armor would catch a drop.

My childhood was filled with Sundays
full of hellfire and brimstone
that burned more bridges down
than they ever built

As a child, my curiosity ran wild
always questioning the unquestioned
and all too often, the answer given
sounded more like a parable than epiphany

As an adult,  knowledge became flame
setting fire to the things once held as sacred and true
and I had to choose to either rise, a Phoenix, or
spend my life sifting through the ashes

Such a simple journey for some, but I took the long way home

They said "let's have a war"
Blame it on the other side
People will blame them more
Their real purpose they'll hide

While they keep watching rockets
Blasting at the opposite soil
They will secretly line their pockets
By stealing all of the oil

But they just never will learn
Because there are too many that cry
Watching as the children burn
When it is only innocents that die

Now its time for me to go to bed
And dream those dreams about you
The ones that never come true...

The roses died

Oh my roses
All torn and dried out
Oh my roses died today
The garden looks so gloomy
Dried leaves on the ground
Colorless flowers thrown apart
Oh my garden of roses
a Killing field
a mourning place

The plants bowing and mourning
The smell of death
is everywhere...

All of a sudden
heavy rain falls from the sky
Clears aways the evidences
of terror...
Like nothing has ever happened

in my garden of roses
It wasn't a suicide
I plotted the death
A brilliant plan
I denied their rights to live

The rain washed away
all the debris...
The truth is forever hidden

Tomorrow...
I have a new plant
A new garden to be praised
and soon they will  forget  the roses...

It doesn't interest me
If you are telling a lie
You said your...
Heart is broken into pieces
Play marbles with them
You said you died
Cold-blooded ******
Shivering in despair
Blood refuses to flow
Numbness everywhere
If the story you are telling is true
I want to know
If you can disappoint another
Just to raise a little sympathy
With your blatant lies...

Feeling lost in the crowd
In the downpour of love
Caresses and kisses
What is right?
How can I say what is wrong
according to you is right
When actually it is all wrong...
Feeling lost among rights and wrongs
Still wild explorations leads me on
Atleast I am true to myself to my faith

Continue to betray another
if not betray your own soul....

Hold me close and tell me you love me,

when my world is

f
  a
     l
        l
           i
              n
                 g

                           a       p       a       r      t     .

“If you're not careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed, and loving the people who are doing the oppressing.”
-Malcolm X

I once read “The history of the world
is but the biography of great men.”
I read those words slowly, then paused
so I could take them all in

Show me a great man
and I'll show you a history of lies
historians cleansing blood from hand
muting the truth, no matter how loud it cries

The biographies of the "great" are almost always
inked in the blood of martyrs and greater men
scarring temporal lobes, and obfuscating memory
the sword, falling prey to pen


"Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws"
-Jim Morrison