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I don’t just bleed Red, I also bleed White and Blue.
Those star-spangled colors might not run
But I know that mine sure do;
Not only for me but for all my kin under the sun.

I also bleed when a hero dies defending liberty,
Cause I know that Hero didn’t flinch
In the face of adversity
But stood tall not giving an inch.

I also bleed with those left fatherless,
Who bleed from an open sore
Being soaked with scarletness
feeling like they’re at Death’s Door

I also bleed red
Just like my parents
Who ask whats going on inside my head
To which I reply with blandishments.
Tara May 1
When will it end, the sorrow, the pain?
What will we lose and what will we gain?
When the guns have no bullets and the missiles no fuel,
When the bodies start to mass and the blood starts to pool.

What will they create, but chaos and war?
How could we win and who sets the score?
When friends become enemies and we lose Wisdom’s sight,
When the battle is over and both sides lost the fight.

When will it end, the anger, the hate?
When will we learn from our past mistakes?
Are we to be remembered as isolated and weak?
Cowering from the prejudiced differences we seek.

Where will they go, the forsaken and lost?
How will they live and what will it cost?
When the land becomes barren and all hope disappears,
When the love and ties of family are no longer revered.

When will it end, the sadness, the grief?
Who is the hero and who is the thief?
When they build a big wall and send more men to fight,
Taking more lives in the dead of the night.

Who will we blame when the tears come like rain?
Who will be responsible for humanity’s slain?
When the finger is pointed at leaders and their deeds,
Where justice has fallen to corruption and greed.

When will it end, the suffering, the hurt?
How many corpses shall we leave in the dirt?
When will we choose peace, when will we choose life?
Choose to shield each other from evil’s sharp knife.

Will it be worth it, the famine and death?
Will we know peace before our last breath?
When we cast out our brothers, both by arms and by blood,
Loyalty and honour, left in the mud.

If we end it with battle and fire and lead,
We’ll end it in disgrace, and we’ll end it dead.
If we end it with war and anguish and guns,
We’ll end it in terror for when judgement comes.

But.

If we end it with allies and fealty and trust,
We’ll end it with dignity and we’ll do what we must.
If we end it united, and make them understand,
Perhaps humanity’s salvation may yet be at hand.
Entered this into a competition a while back (didn't win). One of my favourite poems.
Keiya Tasire Mar 31
At our core is a connection
with a deep “Inner Knowing."

It's abode resides within each of us.
At the point of deep silence.
Between our inhalation and exhalation
A point of stillness
In the quiet of our personal eternal now.

The Dove sitting quietly on her nest.
Do you call her an Angel?
Holy Spirit?
Or the Self Actualizing Higher Self?
Or something else?
What ever you call her, it does not matter
She is a quiet knowing that warms  my heart.
A scream or a shout is never, her tender voice.

She leaves no doubt

Regarding deep nature, deep compassoin.
She is the Ancestor,
The Guru, The Teacher, The Guide, The Witness
The maintainer of life itself.
Lovingly, tending to the questions of your heart.

She comforts the destressed
Tames the racing fears.
Dispels the wild winds of assumptions!
Vigilant, never ceasing
Always enduring to the end.

Raising us up! 
Guiding each back into a unified soul.
Layers upon layers of energies
knit kindly together with Her Love.
Such wings as these!!
Oh Yes!  Take flight!!!
The deep inner knowing goes by different names in different religions and cultures across the world.  Yet this deep inner knowing has the same functions across the cultures.  May we take comfort in a brother/sisterhood  across the globe.  I have been accused of seeing the world through "rose colored glasses" there are times that I absolutely agree.  Let's keep the rose colored glasses on to enjoy each other's company and also to remind us that we are never alone, even in our aloneness there is comfort at the door.
Keiya Tasire Mar 30
It is my belief, that at our core is a connection
with a deep “Inner Knowing."

It's abode resides within each of us.
At the point of deep silence.
Between our inhalation and exhalation
There is a point of stillness
In the quiet of our personal eternal now.

The Dove sitting quietly on her nest.
Do you call her an Angel?
Holy Spirit?
Or the Self Actulizing Higher self?
Or someing else?

A quiet knowing warms the heart
A scream or a shout you will never hear!
A quiet tender voice
Calling.

Without a doubt!  
Do you understand her deeper nature?

She is the Ancestor,
The Guru, The Teacher, The Guide, The Witness
The maintainer of Life itself.
Lovingly, tending to the questiions of your heart.

She comforts the destressed soul.
Tames the racing fears.
Dispells the wild winds of assupmtions!
Vigulant, never ceasing
Always enduring to the end.

Raising us up! 
We are a unified whole
Layers upon layers of energies
knit kindly togethter
With Her Love.
The deep inner knowing goes by differnt names in different religions and cultures across the world.  Yet this deep inner knowing has the same functions across the cultures.  May we take compfort in a brotherhood/sisterhood  across the globe.  I have been accused of seeing the world through "rose colored glasses" there are times that I absolutely agree.  Let's keep the rose colored glasses on to enjoy each other's compay and also to remind us that we are never alone, even in our aloneness there is comfort at the door.
Brother Iran
by Michael R. Burch

Brother Iran, I feel your pain.
I feel it as when the Turk fled Spain.
As the Jew fled, too, that constricting span,
I feel your pain, Brother Iran.

Brother Iran, I know you are noble!
I too fear Hiroshima and Chernobyl.
But though my heart shudders, I have a plan,
and I know you are noble, Brother Iran.

Brother Iran, I salute your Poets!
your Mathematicians!, all your great Wits!
O, come join the earth’s great Caravan.
We’ll include your Poets, Brother Iran.

Brother Iran, I love your Verse!
Come take my hand now, let’s rehearse
the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.
For I love your Verse, Brother Iran.

Bother Iran, civilization’s Flower!
How high flew your towers in man’s early hours!
Let us build them yet higher, for that’s my plan,
civilization’s first flower, Brother Iran.

Published by MahMag (translated into Farsi by Mahnaz Badihian), Other Voices International, Thanal Online (India), Deviant Art, Portal Vapasin (Farsi). Keywords/Tags: Iran, Iranian, Farsi, Persia, Persian, brotherhood, culture, civilization, poetry, literature, poets, mathematicians, philosophers
To those of you who are in the know
keep your ears, eyes, and mouth closed
can't let anyone on what we know
we will cut your throat from ear to ear
that is something everyone should hear.
Created by me on October 23rd, 2019 (I did edit 1 word just now though)
Yeah, I know they don't actually do that. it's still weird.
Play me a sad song?
But what of this joyous day
Summer unfurls before us
And warm sunshine tans my skin

Sure we toil in trenches
Dug as defensive lines
Against a swarm
So complete in its hostility

But brothers, hear the sounds of nature
Echoing around us
Wrapping us in soft cacoons
Of sweet distraction

So do not sing a sad song
Don't dampen my ephemeral mood
Let me have this moment of reprieve
As I dig trenches
On a future battlefield
This poem was written in Afghanistan in 2010.  It is the only positive piece I have written from the portion of my life.  And those of you who've read my other poems about war probably know that very well.  It was just a strange day as summer began and we were in our short sleeve shirts building defensive barriers, surrounded by towering mountains.  It was such a beautiful sight.  It made me think about working in the yard with my dad and the feeling of bonding and accomplishment at a day's toil.
Mikey Kania Dec 2019
antwone the gang leader always
be like: imma make a call; two
minutes and they here

regardless what the issue about:  
antwone always about dat
(and they always come for sure)

me? i ain't made for that
me just tizzop
ain't belong to antwone's
brotherhood

even if i wanted to:
they wouldn't let me

dem dudes roll heavy
while i note down outsider dreams with white ink on
black pages
you feel me?

antwone's dudes addicted to
drive-by-shootings
i'm deep inside; yet no part of that;
my handz not made for glockz

my hands are made for pens;
i'm from the ghetto; who cares?
my hands are made for pens
and if i'm broke i will
write with sparkling fingers

that is for certain therefore my death will be silver
my eyes be shiny like gold then
god is always by my side

you feel me god? good cause i feel you god (HEART)

last breath: tizzop's dead body will be floating on air
because a good man does the right thing (i want to be good)
dead brotherhoodlums be munched by icy blacktop
you feel me?
eternally doomed down there without air
i won't be there  

i am from the ghetto
who cares?  
my hands are made for pens

* WRITE TO SURVIVE
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3446210/a-good-man-does-the-right-thing-ii/

Mind dem families in the projects who sleep on the floor cause they don't wanna catch dem bullets.
Zywa Oct 2019
With friends through a wormhole
from the magic tree to the cave
in the sea and across the threshold

into the arms of the octopus
protecting me under sea stars
with a sign on our foreheads

We share bread and water
sing and dance over corals
of friendship in the garden

decorated with cans and glass
along paths of silver scales
and shells with wonder shine

In the garden we are safe
from the lightning storms above us
on the sea, there is no struggle here

we share, sing and dance
in the hidden Garden of Friends
on the large bed of the sea
“Octopus's garden” (1969, Ringo Starr)

Celtic symbolism: Nion (the Ash), that contains magic power and is used for wands and spears; the Ash should be guided by Gwydion (the magician, storyteller and trickster) and the Adder (the symbol of wisdom and spiritual energy)

Mithraism; SANSKRIT mitra = friend(ship)

Collection “Lilith's Powers" #64
Mark Toney Oct 2019
Why is there so much distrust,
Fueling hatred, malice and lust?

We're caught up in every scam's gust
Leaving many financially bust

Including telemarketers' thrusts
Continuously feeding disgust

We're riding social media's cusp
Allowing real friendships to rust

Causing us to constantly adjust
Leaving us completely nonplussed

Making too many tasks a must
Till we nigh spontaneously combust

Perhaps leaving God's Word thus,
On the shelf gathering dust

This matter needs to be sussed
Not with haphazard zeal but robust

By a brotherhood of people we can trust
With a worldwide campaign to discuss

Preventing impending zero-sum bust
Before we're all planetary dust
12/12/2018 - Poetry form: Monorhyme (couplets) - A Monorhyme is a type of poem in which every single line has the same rhyming sound at the end of the verse. A monorhyme can occur in a stanza, a simple passage, or even an entire poem as long as each line has that repetitive sound. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
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