she cries hearing your name
she cries knowing your not there
she cries at night thinking about you
she cries when she sees your picture
she cries not knowing if your coming home
she cries when she smells your cologne
she cries reading your letters
she cries when she hears your getting deployed
she cries when she hears your going to be gone for a year
she is constantly crying
she is your little sister....

I find myself sidewalking everything
So Silverstein was lucky to know where it ends
Will I ever be privileged to discover such a thing?
Too many trivial needs distract from its pursuit
But how am I to know?
When it's time, I only cared for my toys
The way the sheeple only care for their handouts
Do tell; if the Pentagon lays off 800,000 people
Will we know they're telling the truth about unemployment
When their words flow between mouthfuls
Of stolen fruit and gold
At the table of the elite
So tell me, who is John Galt?
I sit at a table with a mind that knows how to think for himself
And can't help but think this is the purest form of elitism:
Until at last the time has come
For the imminent end of all serfdom
Brought by the brawn of the brainy
How are we to keep our heads when the others ***** us over
Take our heads clean off to see the contents
Only the strongest can withstand the attempts to skew ideas
Upon who's minds the lying flies
Forced off by intellect
The simple last defender of God and liberty
Big Brother would have us not discuss such things
At times, I feel that we are the last in the world
So, tell me- if this paper is the last in the world, have we written something significant?
I've no doubt the world will see
The mistakes of society
Time then, will bring forth a new renaissance, with us as creators
And they, as the readers of some disconnected thoughts
Written at a time when the end of a page was a good stopping point for poetry, but not for the limit of government infringement on personal freedom.

Sterling eyes close the falling red ward
Big Brother has seen it all
He tells me: there is danger
Terror past the massive, all-protecting Atlantic

Don’t stray there, the mouth
of stumbling heads say,
They want to take away
Our safety, our ways, our Freedom

Mr. Elected reassures
Nothing will harm you
Not with me going there
I don’t want you going there

He speaks like my mom
Warning me of the illicits
I am too vulnerable to experience
It’s death I’ll go to- I’ve been told

Sleepless red monocular
Enlightening the air to a passive blue
It’s opacity beneath and above
Ascending again

Mama and Baba say it’s time to go home
I confront the arid peninsula of Qatar
Lungs accustomed, vitality not frozen
Precariously perceiving the harmful

Sentiments of years past in Jordan,
I wonder why
my kin would ban this place
Rumor on dirt pavement in a draft, ears picking up

The Atlantic is not to be crossed,
A lack of morals, malintentions
lay beyond the scape.
Extravagant grenade above,
Falling to the horizon

And no detonation, collapsing behind a curved veil
Skyward lay the remnants
Of heat, frozen in time
The lips in a box on this shoreside

Warn the zephyrs from the ornery
Reaches towards our home
Be on guard of the deceitful
star at night that rains red

Tomorrow may not be there
My blood brothers of Lebanon say,
But I wait, field of vision
aligned to the east

Aural stumbles translate, articulating
My brethren begin their search of food
And in too many moments unnoticed,
Black on bottom, red on the low, blue slowly suffocating the obscurity above