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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

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:
Donovan Rooney Jul 2020
Sisyphean task, (i find myself in)
maybe that's the human way, (can't escape, can't escape)
stubborn, stubborn to the pain (conscious growth is worth the wait)
drift away, drift away (drugs will numb my pain)
what if we all died today, (no more horror,  eternal flame)
no more evil, no more pain,

(to mend the men of broken homes)
from abusive childhoods once known (to lead them on a better path)
away from envy, away from wrath,
towards brighter futures
and better tomorrows
away from pain, away from sorrow,
Colm Mar 2019
The wolfing theif who howls aloud
A ravenous young man with just the essence of beast
Who wears the forest on his back
Who dashes down the rooftop steep
Just to bridge the gap from far away
And land, ever so slightly on the precipice sway
Just to reach up gently and pocket the moon
As a souvenir to take upon his way
****** theives... Lol
Julie Murphy Jun 2018
This is a story of a boy
Which may be a little sad
At the tender age of only eight
Alexander sadly lost his dad
He grew to be a dashing man
And married in twelve sixty one
To Margaret, the daughter of a king
Who tried to bully his in law son
He wanted recognised as an overlord
But Alexander directly refused
Margarets dad did not kick off
But surely his ego was bruised
In twelve sixty two
Alex claimed he owned some land
The Western Isles belonged to him
He decided to take a stand
King Haakon of Norway disputed his claim
And set sail to true form
Alexander prayed for more time
And Haakon was caught in a storm
He died after falling ill
And Alex pressed his case
Haakon's succession to the throne
Did not keep Haakon's pace

(C) Julie Murphy 2015
All feedback welcomed
I’m not here to make you feel comfortable, safe, or secure
I’m not here to give a ****, a like, or a ****

I am here because I am
Whatever that means that is up to me
you don’t get to Define any part of that or me

You don’t get to stumble across my path looking down at screens
Then feel, mad, sad, or whatever way you feel when I will not be moved

I am here because I am
Whatever understanding I gain it’s through my study in solitude or syndicate
You don’t get to instruct or borrow from any part of my lesson(s)

© Christopher F. Brown 2018
Fiel Jan 2018
Graces flowing free
From a marvelous Being
Filled with love and peace
Για το Θεό
Here I am again, with a tightness in my chest that only means one thing
I'm falling and it's not in love
Deep within the confines of my mind is scar tissue so grotesque that no scalpel or other remedy has yet to remove it
And it's under this that houses the secrets that aren't so secret anymore
I've been exposed and I don't know how to cope...
How do I explain the inner workings of something that's broken
I don't
That's my answer
I've lost the warmth you've asked for many years ago
I don't do understanding just as I don't do love
Not anymore, and yes it's been a while since
But I'm still sore
And my throat still stings like a mouth full of saltwater,
And my lungs burn like a breath of sulfur and cigarette smoke,
My veins web like train tracks trying to carry life back to a heart that beats thanks to a grace I'll never deserve
And it's this life I lead that troubles my mind late at night,
Lying next to someone wondering what I'm doing with my life like a light bulb with a paper filament I feel like I'm on borrowed time
And it's this fire I feel that I am scared for
For I'm afraid of the dark
And the only other source of light in my life at the present time comes from someone I barely know
And it's in this cold home I find myself with a keyboard tap tapping through thoughts that probably shouldn't be exposed to those who know me but here we are
Words have always been hard but somehow I find these lines flow from my mind like spilled bleach wiping away all other words I could say
Because talk is cheap but I hope these words hold meaning
And that it may better reveal the cracks in my facade for I am no different
I pretend like everyone else
And my only hope now comes from these very same cracks for I hope that somewhere somehow a light can find it's way back into those thin walls in between the tectonic plates of my heart.
A light in the dark
Robert C Howard Sep 2015
In a Green Friar car park
a professor turns the key -
his engine shudders - falls mute.

Leaning classword into the wind,
his footfalls cover the echoes
of the lethal chaos beneath his feet -
masking the curses of proud Richard
struggling to keep his saddle.

Then, in a whirlwind of swords,
the final Rose of Lancaster
falls in slow motion
to the Leichester earth -
merging with the primal dust.

The professor's archaeologists
have arrived for the dig
and Richard's bones begin to stir.
I had taken this poem done for complete modeling and here it is again.
Not long have I been part of love’s voyage—
Young Sailor’s journey to a distant land;
Oh I’ve reached places and seen my mirage,
A Stranger who built me castles on sand:

Ample structures, yet falsely lingering
Upon which sand frail, they would always sink,
Upon which the Stranger kept on building
The castles which crumbled in an eye’s blink

But the time of the Stranger is long past
And now only me—I can  play my part,
Pillowed on her, while Spring snow’s falling fast,
Listening, to my sweet love’s tender heart.

Still gently nestled, longing for a kiss,
Frankly smiling, while in eternal bliss.
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