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cope with all the greed  injustice and brutality
we learn about day in  day out

with some luck
these are not part of our own experience
but second hand  from news and media

this does not make it better  though
when trusted public figures fail

how to react
    to priests and teachers
          who abuse the young
    to presidents  dictators  populists
          leading astray their countries
    to our elected politicians
          unable to resist the lure
              and money
          of those special interest groups
    to ruthless powermongers  businesses
          that only work for profit
          not the common good
resistance is not easy
the choice of weapons in this conflict difficult

yet if we not resist
not make the global and the smaller perpetrators
accept responsibility for their misdeeds

our living years will soon grow fewer
and we shall hasten our journey
     to the end of all our needs
ANH Sep 20
I fear that lead incision shattering my skull.
That same poison tradition carried out for centuries before
leaving the disenfranchised with broken homes
and broken graves
to match these broken days.

Executions flash across my screen
day by day
like a sleeping spell
trying to numb my mind to the violence
of trying to live a life.

There is no reason.
There is only bloodshed.
How many are you willing to kill
to protect your pride?

Children's screams land into deaf ears
willing to mock their ghosts with lies.
You still believe the fallacy of the
Freedom of Life
when you're not the one
standing in front of the machine's eyes.

You care more for the machine
than human lives.
One that brings an apocalypse to our kind.

Yet, you never hold the blame.
You blame your victims
for what's happened in their lives
or the state or their minds.

Never that the gunman holds cruel intentions.
Your minds are too fragile to believe
what is truth.

Still bodies lie
With what used to be filled with so much light that
stare in your direction.

And never forget
what role you played
or else they could be
Still alive.
Micaiah Aug 3
How am I supposed to explain...the pain
to someone that wouldn't lend an ear...to hear
my fear about towards people in blue....who to you
seem like heroes, people who do.....only what they have to
You admit that some are corrupt, some aren't right
but black people need to coop, you think we always fight
against people that carry guns? have all the might?
historically oppressing people of color, have been the plight
I have done nothing wrong, but still my hands I raise
heart beating out of my chest, eyes are glazed
I feel them filling up, and I'm amazed, that I feel total fear
I feel depraved, but I have done nothing wrong,
is being black, just enough to play the song, to take us back
to Jim crow and his friend, ancestors in a shack,
shackled up by their hands, feet and on their back
is the American dream, American promise,
It said I promise you can be free, I promise
but here I am 200 years later,
flashing red and blue lights behind me, light a light saber
I smile, I'm courteous, I'm kind, put on my best behavior
hoping I'm not sent to meet my maker
because I've done nothing wrong
A story of getting pulled over for a random traffic stop and feeling an irrational, heart pounding time of fear
rob kistner Jun 11

my eyes

crisp from the day's cruel sun
burnt by devastation's fires
scorched by images of relentless horror

take refuge
in this late-evening fog
settling heavy as a shroud

mercifully obscuring

I am sustained
by this damp pall
that descends cool upon me

wraps 'round my pained countenance
fevered with fatigue
twisted with despair

by a faded memory of honor
a faint echo of duty
a frayed thread of human dignity

I stumble
broken by this sin I shoulder

not of my making
but of my charge

my sin

unleashed by others
who would impose their delusions
to advance their evil agenda

those who would rule the world

a world now broken
corrupted by their illusions
spoiled by their vanity

a world in chaos
as darkness deepens

this nocturne
I have but this ruin-riddled
highway of blood

of dying dreams
violated innocence
merciless destruction

of horrific death

this path of my duplicity
of my guilt
my shame

and so
I stumble on
bent by the weight of this falling evening
drowned in its drenching sorrow

my spirit hollow and empty
I slink exhausted
into this coming night
the next night
the night that follows
that always follows

captive on this road of murder
of brutal

a prisoner
of this lost highway

seeking forgiveness


rob kistner ©  2009
This is a contemplation on the brutal, mind-wrenching horrors of war.
Singly among the sand castles
No one noticed until he was there
Above him or in his path

We had built him like children
Build sand castles
We carved and patted him from moist earth
He was soft, yet rigid as he lay there
His gaze was skyward and uncertain..

We left him there to see what people do
And walked a distance to the dunes
We watched him among people
For he was one now.

They came. Families, elderly couples
And children too and stopped
To admire and express delight
At this sand man's sculptured form.

We felt happiness at the pleasure be brought
He made them stop a moment to feel their surroundings
And recognize his contented solitude.

Teenage boys came to jeer and leer.
One of them looked around as if in secrecy
And plunged a driftwood stick at the sandman's groin
Then quickly ran away laughing at his tale.

The stick protruded  boldly
Our sand man's hands were at his sides
He felt no ruler of the sands
Only a gentle soul made of mockery.

A girl and her brother approached
After we had removed the offence.
The young boy was waving his 'mighty sword'
(Some stick which had washed ashore)

At first, with his sister in charge
They stopped to admire
But then she walked away,
Turned her back to venture on.

"Hello", he said to the sandman
As if to acknowledge someone there.
Then with his 'mighty sword' he pierced
Into the sandman's groin and
Ripped up to his chest
Then swung his 'sword' and
Cut the sand man's throat...

Why? Why! we cried in mind
As the young boy ran away
Murderer! we yelled in our hearts

IWe hurt for man
We sat stunned at this violence
This desecration of a soul.

We couldn't just leave him there
Blameless, yet aware
So we buried the sand man and prayed
Dust to dust, sand to sand

Sand he may have been
But soul he was for us.
Riley June Mar 15
i existed and that made you angry
i was loved and that made you angrier
i got your autograph on my body

you feel entitled to power
you look at me like some rotting trash
you hate me because you learned to

i go to school and learn all i can
i pray for my family to stay safe
i cry clutching on to the hope i might grow up

you paint people with your brush
you mould and manipulate masses
you make art only Lucifer would enjoy

i am always running in fear
i never look you in the eyes in case your disgusted by their colour
i cause the sky to rain and soak every cheek

you guard my success with brutal force
you take spirit and bottle it away to gather dust
you took my life but you still wear your uniform
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