an endless dilemma
an unsung drama
there's no resolution
to the struggles

a natural cycle
spawning eternally
once suffered enough
from the nth time

like an echo on repeat
trapped in a tunnel
banging against walls
no way out

but the soul seeks isolation
even from itself
night and day
it's always been a disarray

and then it got what it wanted
a haunting clamor
complained for never finding
peace in solitude

distractions seem to be useless
medications: no effect
like a virus going stronger
every time you tried to fight it

an endless dilemma
slowly conquering
every bit of you
a silent invasion

Gone are the days, when by night, we would sleep on the trees
And by day, roam around, finding for eatables and wild berries,
We would then, swing from creepers to creepers, trees to trees,
Playing amongst, brothers and sisters, friends, and other families.

Our homes have been invaded, humans encroaching, day by day.
We have been driven out of our homes; we have no place to stay.
We now, no more, hunt for food, rather by the roadside, sit or lie
Ever patiently, waiting for foods, thrown from vehicles passing by.

They call us monkeys, but look who’s been monkey-ing?
No thoughts on where we’d live, simply occupying.
Cutting down trees, destroying our habitat,
We have no home, we can call our own; ain’t it bad?

Copyright © PS

The flower of doom
in its bloom
its petals of dollar bills.

He shouldn’t have touched your waist
You don’t need to tell him twice
Common knowledge it’s **** decency
To not touch when you’re not wanted.



© Sofia Villagrana 2018

Dead soldiers, lined up in a row,
Short history, how many more to go?
Dead sailors, some of them in an alley
Not sailing anywhere anymore are they?
Dead airmen, and also dead marines.
What if we’d been where they’ve been?
Men and women, fathers and mothers
We are burying our sisters and brothers.

Hut, two, three, four,
What the hell are we fighting for?
Five, six, seven, eight!
I’ll go to heaven if it’s not too late!

Dead soldiers, not just bottles of beer;
More come back home dead every year.
Used people, we let them get thrown away
By listening to what rich crooks had to say
Their empty promises were all about glory
But remember, most of that word spells gory.
Expendables, in the Big Game of profit.
The proceeds, none of them ever got it.

Hut, two, three, four,
What the hell are we fighting for?
Five, six, seven, eight!
I’ll go to heaven if it’s not too late!

Salute and makes parades, of course
And pin the cheap medals on a corpse,
A kid under orders to invade and ****
Hoping leaders wake, but they never will.
The politicians get rich in office when
They sing  patriotic war songs again.
Someday we all can stop all the killing
If love, providence and all gods are willing.

Hut, two, three, four,
What the hell are we fighting for?
Five, six, seven, eight!
I’ll go to heaven if it’s not too late!

I hear the birds singing to the tune of the Earth's breath
Sun's angels descending, purging my room of creatures
That appeared since that giant beach ball ran and hid behind the sea
These events unfolded repeatedly for several days and in my dreams
I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but could remember remembering everything.

My eyelids jumped off of my wide eyes and hit the floor
And I, too, jumped to that hole where Alice once did
Only to wake up feeling void as if a crane forcibly penetrated itself
To any hole it could find on my body making its way to my head
And rip out the films of my brain like a heathen worshipping his false god.

You see, what happens in wonderland means as much to me as
A thin thread of hope means to a war refugee
However, despite all this, there was one time I remember exactly what happened
I was flying, "YES!" I shouted. My thoughts pulled out his gun and shot me down
I hear the birds singing to the tune of the Earth's breath.

Stomach plummets --
Cold blooded fear
Expressionless eyes
Open wide, mechanical
Blinking -- quit thinking
Go about your business
Don’t even nod
One foot and the other
In a perfunctory march
A slip and it’s over
They’ll turn and then stare
Raise up a finger,
Eyes bugging, mouth hanging
Expectantly before it comes:
Loud distorted ringing
The sound of your demise