Saint Titus Jun 18

Instructions unclear

Uncommon is not a word I often choose
Over zealous usage has left it maladjusted
I feel too frustrated and abused
Fear the fearful and opiate the transmute

In terms not so blatant

Put it on the back burner
Pack it up and go home
For a moment
Calculate the risk in murder
Before you know you'll be encroached

You're killing it

And yourself as well
Although I'm not convinced you see it
I know your will is right, heart straight as an arrow
But strung up on the wrong bow

And swiftly you'll be deadly
buried in  the things you used to know
People die and turn to snow
To bury you alive
And leave you feeling cold
It might hurt to take a knife

I know

Your back is riddled
As it goes
But hold on tight
I see the rope
Is burning bright
But flames drive back
The dreary nights
And warming up, going up in flames

Avoid

Blowing up, reaching out in vain

Endless as the days
Ticking clocks all look the same
Hear them spelling out your name

Is this the way it stays?

...

Dry earth, without warning
Stony soil holds only dust and death
Empty plates and hungry bellies
Hot Sun burns yet brings no light
The cold Moon shines bright
As it cries with the baby in the dark
Stars falling above, he fell down in the field
Fainted and famished, still lying there
Unknown to the world
Another day in Somalia
With no rain and no aid in sight.

©LadyofRavehill 4/6/17
For NPM: The famine and drought in Somalia is largely unreported. Deaths from starvation are a tragedy that in 2017 humanity should be able to prevent or at the very least help those suffering before children die of hunger. Prayers and blessings of rain to Somalia.
Lydia Hirsch Oct 2016

The village is afraid: tiny, open to injustice.
The farmers hide the ache in their
collective bones. There is little
sympathy, even among their saviors.

Temporal Fugue Oct 2016

Air is getting thicker, not with oxygen ya know
People dying quicker, going with the global flow

Oceans full of carbon tubes, global warming the norm
Political tools, and boobs, fueling a worldly storm

Wars raging rampant, blood, at every door
Famine abundant, no food, for the poor

If there were an open berth, for Mars would I be bound
So, if you're also leaving earth, in that line, I can be found

Liam C Calhoun Oct 2016

That damned
Cicada.
She won’t let me sleep.
She won’t let me sleep!

Won’t let me sleep –
When I’ve worked my shift,
I’ve paid my rent,
I’ve fluffed my pillow.

Won’t let me sleep –
In between harassment,
In between the bill collectors,
The brawls and the bitching.

Won’t let me sleep –
When people fail,
When bombs fall
And children perish elsewhere.

She won’t let me sleep.
She won’t let me sleep!
That damned
Cicada.

She won’t let me sleep.

The world we make.
Noah Stowe Oct 2016

(Five parts, all are listed here.)
War
My mind battles my body
Tearing apart the threads of what I live for
An eternal fight that can never be won
Time running out
Nothing seems to save me
Part of me wanting to live
Part of me wanting to die
Neither side winning
Yet neither side losing.
And time is the only constant.
But time is the thing I have the least of
Time is the thing that I’m losing
And no matter what I do,
The war is always raging.
The battle never ending.
And that’s the way my life feels.
A constant battle of good and bad.
A constant battle of the will to live
And the will to die.

Famine
I dream of happiness
Yet everything good
Is torn away from me
By depression
Never feeling good enough
But needing something
To hold onto.
The hunger of that thing
Rips into my heart
Gnawing on my soul
Eating everything it can reach.
But nothing satisfies its appetite.
Of the thing it needs most.
So I let it consume me
Sense I can’t control it.
No matter what I do.

Pestilence
Depression leaks into my soul.
It covers every part of me with a black, consuming acid.
It wants to steal me away slowly.
But it isn’t merciful enough to finish the task.
And it isn’t merciful enough to surface to the outside.
Where others can see it.
So it consumes my soul,
My mind,
My body.
And enjoys my suffering.
The darkness fills every corner of my body.
And filters out the light.
Taking my body over so even I can’t control it.
Using myself against me.
Showing me my weaknesses but not my strengths.
And somehow, I’m still here despite the mental disease worse than any physical one.
Because it can’t be cured with any antidote, no matter how strong.
No matter what I do, the darkness seems to win.

Death
My heart has stopped working
It doesn’t care about beating, the darkness has already stopped it from wanting and willing to live.
My brain has stopped thinking
The darkness won’t let it think anything but thoughts of darkness, why think when you can’t.
My face has stopped smiling
Nobody believes it anyways, the darkness can’t be seen, but my laugh has already been terminated.
My soul has stopped living
It has no reason to, not when the darkness has stolen its faith of a new beginning.
My body has stopped sleeping
Why sleep when all your dreams are filled with nightmares, when all your nights are restless to begin with?
My mind has stopped caring
It doesn’t need to, not when the darkness has already shown it that each thing it loved can be lost.
My eyes have stopped crying
Why cry when you have nothing left to care about? When everything you loved has left?
My body has grown limp
Why move when you have no reason to live?
My body is just a machine.
I’ve become a mindless automaton controlled by the dark depression I’ve fallen into.
My fingers have stopped typing
Why type when you’ve nothing to say? When the words run dry, when everything you say is just mindless babbling?
Why live when you can’t?
Why live when you’ve already died to begin with?

The Angel
The darkness has filled me.
I’m close to the end.
One more step and I’m gone.
One more step and it’s over.
But then there is a light.
A light more beautiful than any other.
More vibrant than the sun.
A star is nothing compared to the way the light shone.
And the angel approached me.
It tried to remove the darkness.
It couldn’t.
No matter how it tried.
So instead, it comforted me.
But the angel was whisked away from me.
Right as the darkness was losing its strength.
And so I was forced to watch the angel leave.
My angel. My hope. My love, removed from me.
The thing that gave me light in the darkness was taken away.
The end of my tunnel was closed off.

Each poem has its own writing style to match the Horsemen or the Angel. The Angel represents the hope I was given to escape depression, but it was taken away from me.
Ignatius Hosiana Jun 2016

War isn't that fusillade you hear in the distance
betwixt the government troops and the resistance
it's the civilians getting tattered in the crossfire
it isn't the wham of bombardment from airstrikes
by blaring Jet fighters across a shower of black in the sky
it isn't the badonkadonk of a Rocket launcher or Black Mamba
but natives being swept like Safari ants in chunky numbers
War isn't those mines planted in hitherto playing field
but the ignorant innocent children in search for a distraction killed
War isn't the televised scorched homes and gardens with corns
but the consequent drought, scarcity and "famined" and feeble as thorns
War isn't those vehicles and motors torched
it's the blameless owner who in tears the absurdity watched
War isn't that cacophony of politicians on stuffed tables
their speeches filled with hypocritical vocabulary are but fables
speak to the maimed and dead whose voices are never heard
it's those who want the anarchy to end, it's they that are tired
War isn't the nations battling or the parties in contention
it's those set, torn and cast apart...the ones we seldom mention
the parents and siblings forced to say goodbye
while their Breadwinner falls victim to conscription
despondent and despairing as they look on and cry
knowing their brother and Son's like those taken before bound to die
or those refugees wanting to return to their cradle
but having no home and nothing to return to but rubble
those forced to stay in the first world midst racist chants and hate
jeered by the "civilised" like they chose their skin-color and fate
War isn't the famous voices we hear and talk about on the media
but the Virgin girls abducted, gagged, raped and mutilated
War isn't the beautiful monster tanks wrecking
but the historical landmarks and fashioned roads
reduced to nothing, the lives within squashed under their loads
War isn't the glamorous documentary films censored and unreal
but the muffled deadbeat voices from heartbreaks that never heal
It's seeing one's whole life sublime in one moment of savagery
compelling the orphaned and widowed into manacles of sex slavery
for with the loss of their husbands and parents, neighbours, Uncles
comes the tight grasp of inhumane chains and anchors
in those places they are forced to seek refuge
places where they are treated worse when they attempt to refuse
War isn't just being apart from your people by a million a mile
War's learning to wear a weighted mask of a smile
while the heart, Soul, Mind and one's entirety's in Tears
War's knowing all one's "perspirational" toils were but wasted years
fearing to tell one's story because among the presented ears
one can no longer tell one that truly listens from one that just hears
..
whatever's in speech be it poetry or Documentary isn't War
War isn't words, war isn't testimonies, there's more
destruction to War than the eyes, heart can handle
not ever can War fit in the descriptions of words we bundle
War's something humanity never deserve
so unfair for we make war when most can hardly make love.

Conserving the Environment
Seemed Detrimental to the Economy.
So,
We just kept burning Fossil Fuels
And allowed Global Warming to progress,
But,
Now,
There is no Economy
Because the Land is Infertile and Dessicated
Only the Rich can afford
To eat Food that has been imported from abroad.
Yeah,
I guess Environmental Conservation
Would have had its costs,
But,
Now,
We can't afford to live.

PiledByTheGate Feb 2016

Rain
rain
rain
rain
rain

ease our souls and bring us peace
be the trickling down of life to this place.
No words to ease where a war rages.
The quiet is violent.
The world is at standstill silence.

Rain
to relieve this famine,
pour from the heavens and bring us peace.

The Oblivion Dec 2015

The heart of the lamb cries out
The locusts crawl from beneath the Earth
Chop off the head of the ram boy
The plagues are here and sacrifice is in order

The dead will rise again
And will be swiftly devoured by lions
But the lions will get poisoned and die
The plagues are here and sacrifice is in order

The men, women and children will run
But there will be no opportunity to hide
For this time no one shall be spared
The plagues are here and sacrifice is in order

For it is too late, blood must be spilled
The Earth shall be decorated in pagan colors
Wine will turn to the blood of the disease and they will cry for mercy
The plagues are here and sacrifice is in order

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