We sit with pen bayonet in hand
as warriors of written word.
Beings that are drenched in verse
that rains on battlefield of page.
We speak so eyes of other side awaken
to know it’s time for change.
We echo from hearts that bleed
to anoint with our wisdom.
YES, we are the warriors that move
inside grace to hug an eye
and shift all
to create new beginnings.

Liar
You promised
Freedom, safety, peace
Terror's all I see
Battlefield

Love
is a battlefield
we
are flying arrows
when we hit flesh
and one more soldier is down to the ground
heavily armed with dreadful hopes in hand
dead are they
then alive they become
as their blood are pouring down like milk
as they go down in hysterical laughter
they finally make it
we become merely objects
cutting sharp whoever is on site,  
we don’t know what the **** we are doing.
but who is shooting us at the enemy?
who has sharpened us till we bleed? thrown our strengths in the fire
drown them into the water
‘til our wooden bodies get tired
then break
as they get finished?
chanting at fate’s face
the only thing we have held until that very moment
that once and for all
cheaters conquer the world
good ones make it to the finish line.

Love wasn’t your forté.
No, it was your weapon.
You wielded it like a sword on a revolutionary soldier,
Armed and ready to go onto the battlefield as if you had nothing to lose.
Well my dear,
Fear is my aphrodisiac.
Love was the least of my worries.