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wyle tan Jun 10
The strength of people's voice, loud and clear
Can any elected representatives speak
As loudly, as clearly as the people?

True courage and democratic freedom
When people gather and march unconfined
Not cowering in their corner
Only to hear their pitiful squeaks

If it must rain, let it not drizzle disappointingly
Let the trumpet sound from the hills
Not under your bed, but let the light of freedom
Blaze fiercely
Reference to Hong Kong march against controversial legislation.
June 2019. Organizer claim 1 million came out on the streets.
Dawnstar Apr 26
Down in the valley of the fleeting stream,
Parched Syrian tongues are crying aloud,
Below, below, the sacred river
Where war took away my sweetheart.

She was bright, now she is blue,
Like the cataracts dividing the stream,
And the tearducts dividing my eyes,
Below, below, the sacred river
Where war took away my sweetheart,

Torn in our tumult
From the bleak parade,
Starve we all like her delicate face,
Now forever blemished.

Therefore let us dine on hardtack!
Suffer for the things of the marble world;
Fast along the toiling road,
To the land of reward, we go.

I compared her to a flower:
The fairest fragrance ever conceived;
To think her smile is a nest for ants,
Below, below, the sacred river
Where death took away my sweetheart.

Alone I sit, I weep,
        My face is clenched by nightingales;
A country stained by grief,
        At night, I hear their biting wails
From ill-wrought molten blades,
        Alike to man and woman;
How can I reason fate away
        By crying o'er her *****?

Change these feelings about me!
I am eager to see her again,
But I won't obey the winds
Above, above the sacred river—
As far as the fragrance is concerned.

No more mourning in silence!
Turn your plowshares into swords,
Let the weak say, "I am strong";
We may yet have the final word,
Before the vanguard departs this world.
s Willow Feb 4
This modern day Civil War
is fighting with ourself over our childhood depression.
The ending battle is finally tying the noose.
What side will come out in the end?
Pauper of Prose Oct 2018
She lays along her porch
In clothes of comfort
Enclosed in comforts
A modest house
A ancestral skill
A family purring in peace
Yet I’d only want a piece
Of her
None of all that other
Such a western reality
Is rooted in my mentality
To see her behind a glass
As children gawk and gasp
Leavin' aint always gone
Because your soul cries out in confusion
Cries out in anger's anger
Cries out in protest

Leavin' ain't always gone
It's just harder to seek reason
Harder to make insanity sane
Harder to make the wrong right

Leavin' ain't always gone
Because the loss of life opens pain
Opens the past anxiety
Opens healed over wounds

Leavin' ain't always gone
Just finding a new resonance
Finding a new resistance
Finding its strength in numbers

Cause leavin' ain't always gone
When it's buried

For Trayvon Martin
This was produced from my anxiety upon hearing of a young Black man's ****** in FL USA
eleanor prince Aug 2018
fireball burst

clenched coil
bleeds purple
rabid rage

fists itch
sue for

temple warden
glares strained
calls culled

rampant riot
bristles broken

all exits
blocked tight
stifled screams

fade as winds
of sense
take command
the interplay of internal forces as one grapples with strong emotions like rage
mc ish Jun 2018
there is a war inside me,
begging for your condemnation,
begging for your ruthless sensation.
a war inside me,
that feeds on anticipation,
an invitation for your belittling generalizations,
or an explanation for my creation,
but no please, stay inside your own nation.
this is my civil war,
though civil is not the word i would use to describe
the words echoed in my mind
about my soul, my love, my kind.
i do not hear pride anymore.
my sense of worth escaped when you disregarded to close the door.
running free like the child i once felt inside my numb bones.
i own
but the cruel, few centimeters inside my skull.
and even those have been invaded by this cold.
i long for daybreak like hades longing for the return of his soul
but i feel no remorse
for the steady course
by which i have found my way
you say,
sit down be calm and wait for your prince,
but i see no prince
i wait only for the queen inside of me to awaken and find
the dragon that for three years has held captive my mind
is recoiling into the skin that it crawled out of.
this queen has not been praying for a handsome mate on a handsome steed
only the virtues and weapons that she may need
she is off
to find a happily ever anything
and perchance on the way she shall meet her "king."
or a crown.
or both.
Karliah May 2018
The lands are painted red with my brothers,
Thirsty are the blades that slaughter names,
Dead warriors linger among their graves searching,
Victim to the violence that is without merit or fames,
Rest now child, for Sovngarde beckons in the stars...

The grassy moor talks of peace and neutrality,
But within the shadows, bows to the wolves maw,
You cannot blame the weak for stepping down,
Horses sleep in the light of the moon warriors paws,
Rest now child, for Sovngarde beckons in the stars...

The land of golden leaves is filled with thieves,
They crawl amongst the waste and beneath our feet,
Drunk on their sorrows, happiness is robbed from their souls,
A queen and friend of wolves, leads them like sheep,
Rest now child, for Sovngarde beckons in the stars…

The men from a future long past, look to the east,
Contemplating their lust for more that glitters in the dark,
Rebels within their own, mute the howling wolves,
They are blind to the bleeding infectious mark,
Rest now child, for Sovngarde beckons in the stars…

Deathly cold air, warms and breeds powerful men,
Bears unwilling to let demons devour their inheritance,
Armed with their swords and traditions, they make war with wolves,
They fight as true sons and daughters of sufferance,
Rest now child, for Sovngarde beckons in the stars…

The vicious wolves are mere puppets of a greater evil,
They toil and tarnish traditions held for centuries,
But they are simply dogs, scared to displease their master,
For their failure would only seek to bring more miseries,
Rest now child, for Sovngarde beckons in the stars..
Sky Yang May 2018
There goes ******’s nose
Larger than life, breathed in
“Majestic, it sprang” from his face
“The marvel of time, the wonder of men”
Molded by the General and his
lyrical men

Whip Bobbie Lee you may,
for this miracle happened
in the strangest way
in the meadows,
in the bright of day
three invaluable cigars lay

Some men smart in ways unimagined,
appear as Janus in the midst of kings,
feign blunder to catch the unsuspecting plunderer,
who waltzes right in (or away) from his fate,
******* the grit out of men, they lose faith

To His right is the good thief
and he inclines his head
But a thief is a thief, nonetheless?

Two-hundred-ninety-nine-hundred-two men are in the cornfield, their mouths silently forming hurrahs and their hands slack at their sides.
Two-hundred-ninety-nine-hundred-two-men are ****** eagles of Indiana.

“No shock can destroy”, the carnage of Shocksburg
“The world shall behold”, “the triumph of”
“Tyranny, sorrow, and darkness”
“Hurrah for the” “dream
of a madman, the song of a fool.”

McClellan sees double, no, triple.
And Lincoln, victory where there isn’t.
And I, beauty where one should not.

Let men become crusaders, emancipators, and proclamators,
of all things and
all things good and just.  

Your arms resemble corn stalks and your eyes
poppy seeds. Spread-eagle yourself, at the mercy of
the Kingdom of Heaven.
Say your last Hurrahs and clutch that laundry tight
to your chest.

Disillusioned people get nowhere, at least illusioned people can
walk themselves over to the doors of Death?

Samuel is like many other black laborers in the infantry-- mistaken in the most wonderful way.
“Hurrah! for the Union” he says.
and I begin to teach him how to write.
collection of SEPARATE poems throughout an AP US history research paper done on the Civil War (27th Indiana infantry regiment)

Fiona Feb 2018
South Civil war
Another cold-blooded war,
Again the North succeeded,
Above the expectations,
Of our Founding Fathers.
We are called the “South”,
Even though we are
Supposed to be apart of this nation,
And yet our pride got the best of U.S.
Because there is no I in U.S.
And no “liberty and justice for all”,
In the cold shackles of war.
With death hanging in the air,
And riding on every bullet,
With the merciless slaughter of human life,
And no remorse behind it.
And even to this modern day,
Our blood that is shared
With our civil war ancestors,
Resents the choices made.
To be put in the shoes of a ***** slave,
In this darkened time of war,
With the harsh casualties in their everyday life
And their energy being put to use against their will.
For those in the south whos blood still feels the pain of war
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