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Yet another year
Yet another stick
The disappointment grows
Thought and muscles slow.

It takes half a life
To realise where it's gone
Need to make a change
Before you're in chains.

Watching everyone else
Do they feel the same?
Content with everyday drawl
Onward we all crawl.

Tired of waiting around
For something that doesn't show
My blood turns cold
As I grow old.
 Feb 2017 Jean Lin
Mike Essig
After the Big War,
his uncles came home
(some of them)
different men but
bearing souvenirs
of devastation.

One was a rifle,
a Karabiner-98,
with stains of death
on its wooden stock.

His uncle wouldn't say
just how he got it.

When his uncle died,
the weapon came to him.

It spoke to him
of glory and bravery.

He was proud to hold
that dead German's gun.

Not many years later,
he returned, shattered,
from his own war.

His only souvenirs
burned in his head.

One *** shrouded night
he tossed the rifle into
the Susquehanna River.

Never again did he
own another weapon.

Comes a time for the
circle to be broken.
 Feb 2017 Jean Lin
Akira Chinen
Its hard to imagine a rich dumb spoiled kid with a tweeter account is the elected leader of the so called free world and at the same time its really no surprise at all as we've dumbed ourselves down to be less intelligent than 5th graders and are the self proclaimed biggest losers on the planet and we prefer our reality scripted and televised and trust our childrens intellect and education to a school system we know to be broken and in desperate need of repair because at the end of the day its easier to ***** and point fingers about how ****** up it all is than to make an effort or to even ask for help as long as we can claim its not our fault we can pretend we have no reason not to be able to sleep at night and we sleep and sleep all through the night and all through the day as we grind and break our bones on the ground that will one day be our graves which will one day just be the parking lot of another shopping mall full of our cookie cut children who were never taught the were worth more than minimum wage and that this is the way of life and theres happiness in the **** of it all and just shut up and don't complain and watch a little tv and drink some beer and relax and do it all again and again and work those knuckles and break your backs so your kids can grow up and work in the mall of the parking lot where their grandparents are buried  and thats the happiness thats worth nothing more than there minimal lifes and its not so bad to belive the lie that has made a joke of us all as we strive to be great again
 Feb 2017 Jean Lin
S Olson
-- when I have the tenderness of a writhing dragon,
he will paint flowers across my throat

as though to remind me that fires are indelicate,
and that I writhe in a prison made of open space.
-- this man will not smother me with his skin
when we sleep.
-- this man will unhinge the door of my mouth,
and kiss out the bullets stuck under my tongue.
                                                                ­               ---
whatever thousandth day I awaken beside this man,
realizing I have become the flowers he painted
across my throat, by braving my throat,

I will, unchaining myself from the draconic worry,
bring him his coffee in bed, with a smile.
 Feb 2017 Jean Lin
r
Sometimes at night

asleep by the firelight

I dream about them

how they died

some are singing

and others saying what

they no longer see

walking fencelines

limping as if in pain

some of them handsome

and some mysterious

silent but not

for long they tell you

men scarcely know

how beautiful fire is

and old stories

they can't remember

unless you can

still look them in the eye.
The alley still blossoming
Jasmines
Still carrying my childhood
aroma.

عطر کودکی هایم را می دهد
کوچه ای که هنوز گل یاس می دهد
 Feb 2017 Jean Lin
f
Polar Opposites
 Feb 2017 Jean Lin
f
if the sun goes down
the moon goes up,
and when the sun goes up
the moon goes down,
when will they ever meet?
 Feb 2017 Jean Lin
Sunflower Girl
We ran through the snow
My bare feet turning to stone
My soul warm and glittering
Like dust in a sunbeam
Like sun showers in the spring

You wrapped my feet in your coat
Chipped magenta nail polish
Sheltered in fuzzy flannel
Both your hands enveloped my frozen fingers
My cold consumed by your warmth

With melodies crackling through the stereo
We drove down infinite streets
Lights reflecting on the misty windshield
As if the colors were drawn to our laughter
Strikingly vibrant, like stained glass

I let the stars fade into insignificance
And allowed the clock to dissolve
In the euphoria of existence
In the acquaintance of adoration
In the feeling of your rough cheek on mine
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