Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kassan Jahmal Jun 12
I've read about bloodshed;
whether foreign or local by hands of same labour,
Tribalism; though something I haven't experienced,
I've felt it's affect. The very hurt of a neighbour.

History has shown us plenty, still the plenty
of hurt in our history we carry.
If these walls could talk; they'd seem lesser, and
quietened by the ground's bloodshed.
History taught us well into future, but affected the
present so badly.

Tears of loss, tears of tragedy,
tears of us, tears of brothers and sisters,
Are tears of all, us as one nation's family.

Tears of old, tears anew,
tears of past, tears of present and future,
Are the tears of another I shed too.

These tears on the grounds of present pastures;
I question how long generations we'll wait for
the tears to into laughter.

Sigh!
Yemaya Apr 2021
Poppies grown rosy,
from my comrades souls.
Stained red with their own murderous goals.

Their life force ****** dry, and now it flows,
Into the soil through the meadows.

Crowns of lead bullets adorn many a 'hero's' head.
Many a crying widow and widower longing for the dead.

Young daughters and sons who stand on their fallen's bed.
This is where the everlasting hate is spread.
kainat Mar 2021
People name that place a paradise,
where painful screams are heard; but unheard
the Walking Souls are dealt to be soulless
the Blood is shed as a vain fluid
where Heartless beings are imposed to be escorted

People name that place a paradise,
where Sun rises with hope; but unhope
the Wanton is unbridled in his tyranny
and Victim is to be hushed unattended
where each Atom tells the story of oppression

People name that place a paradise,
where laughter became the part of past
that is mortuary but not a homeland
where Lively spirits are declared hollow
where humanity is just taken for granted

   People name that place a paradise
where painful screams will be heard; but unheard...
Joshua Phelps Nov 2020
There’s a fire on top of the rooftops,
Bombs are falling from planes nearby,
people are scrambling for cover,
And help is M.I.A.

Debris falls all around us,
Bricks tumble, our hearts fumble.

We ask ourselves: Will we make it out alive?

We fear for our lives,
We fear for our families,
But the enemy doesn’t care.

We’re gonna need more than a prayer
To get through this hell
that is World War III.

We know there’s no time to wait,
We have to keep going,
Or we may be another target,
Another casualty
of heartbreak.

As we hear the surrounding screams,
We dare not look back,
As the enemy closes in around us

The sounds of gunshots
Bounce off the walls,
And one by one, the loved ones around us,
like dominoes, take the fall.

We dodge, we duck
For cover.

They shoot, fire,
And another casualty
Another loved one
lost.

Our hearts beat faster and faster,
As our hopes of survival are quashed.

Adrenaline courses in our veins,
And time starts to slow down.

We begin to wonder
And ask ourselves once more:
Will we make it out of this hell?

We didn’t ask for this.
We didn’t want this war.

But here we are,
fighting just to survive.

We don’t eat, and we don’t sleep,
All we do is run away
And hope we live to see another night.
This poem is loosely based on collective wars going in the world. The Syrian civil war was the main source of inspiration for this submission. More information about the war can be found here: https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2020/country-chapters/syria
Esther L Krenzin Aug 2020
we fight until there is no in between
until homes are reduced
to wastelands
until we feel incomplete without
a gun in our hand
and still the children go hungry
still the mothers are weary
still the fathers die early

Esther Krenzin
onyx Apr 2020
the fact that
man
man created weapons
with the capability to **** man
and the intention
to **** man
is truly shocking
is we existed
without weaponry
so many brutal wars
could have been avoided
and many deaths
could have been
postponed
brutality and cruelty
would not
cease to exist
but
it would
exist less
i wrote this in the middle of class on a sticky note a month ago, so
Nyx Lilith Nov 2019
the ocean is red
red for the war,
red for the rage,
red for the passion,
red for the bloodshed, killing and death that comes with the conflict.

the trees are yellow
yellow for the decay,
yellow for greed,
yellow for sickness,
yellow for the colour of the metal found in the earth with worth more than anything else.

the sky is gray
gray for the smoke,
gray for the dullness,
gray for the restlessness,
gray for the colour of the snow that falls from the sky, riddled with toxic chemicals.
this is part two of a three-part poem, following the past and preceding the future.
BananaPanda Oct 2019
She left me no where else to go, I found her body in the cold. The feet were bound, her hands were tied, I thought for sure this child died.

I released her gently from her pain, I picked her up and carried her away. I brought her to my Father, who with a steady hand, motioned I place her back upon the land.

I shook my head, for I didn't understand. This child has died, is this not the plan?

From behind me shook a teetering flutter
For in the room there was another

Identical to the one in my arms
But without cuts, blood, and scars.

She smiled at me, as if not to alarm.
And turned to my Father, who stuck out his hand.

She took it in stride, like light fading away.
Into the night sky I saw her soul slip away.

The body in my hands, stupid-alive.
It wreathed and screamed out,
As if not knowing why.

Father finally saying,
"She cannot die."
Next page