Em MacKenzie Feb 15
You call yourself a soldier of fortune,
you have no idea how right you are.
Even though you think you're fighting for something important,
you're marching for a rich man's new car.
Each bullet you shoot is a stock market spike,
and each victory is new land to claim.
To them you're a barcode or close to the like,
those you fight for don't bother to know your name.

History is written by the winners,
so don't trust the accounts you read.
The strings are all pulled by the sinners,
who wouldn't offer you a bandaid while you bleed.
You may give your life for the flag,
there's honour in that thought.
But they're using your morals to drag,
you and your platoon from spot to spot.
To shoot to kill and see what treasures they've got.

The industries fund each side of the war,
making life and death just a casual bet.
Ford provides the tanks for both just like before,
money spent with a return they're guaranteed to get.
Land's value is more than you know,
'cause the world ain't making anymore anytime soon.
So pick a spot on the globe and go,
and ship out the next loyal platoon.

History is written by the winners,
so always question what you hear.
Behind the scenes there's profiteers and grinners,
and you're seizing the power and resources they hold so dear.
You may give your life to protect,
every single man, woman and child,
but they're using you in retrospect,
and smuggling things in a corpse defiled.
Do they even glance at the bodies that they have piled?

The world's in trouble, there's no denying,
and each soldier has stayed true and loyal.
But at home the problem is double, you'd never know with their lying.
You can't fight your own men and thus you can't get the oil.

Just like every crime, you have to follow the paper trial,
it's no different this time, you're a victim of a government that seeks to fail.
They've made you into a collection agency,
one with guns to force a payment.
It's in plain sight so blatantly,
every person and country has to pay their rent.
For population control,
everyone has to pay the toll.

History is written by the winners,
so only one side gets to plead it's case.
Instead of helping the kids getting thinner,
evil gets a makeover and changes it's face.
I don't wish to shame anyone doing their duty,
I know you believe you're doing the right thing.
But what I'm saying, or eluding,
is they've turned war into business that's always profiting.
So before you put your uniform on,
ask who will benefit from this battle.
You might see the side you fight for is wrong,
and they're marching you to slaughter like cattle.

The real wars are at home,
but they want the heroes to roam,
No one to stop their own war crimes,
counting dollars, quarters, nickels and dimes.
They even call it a machine,
could it be more obvious what they mean?
Amanda Feb 6
I wish I owned a time machine
So I could take both of us back
To the blissful days we were carefree
Before we drove our lives off track

I would give up every dollar I've earned
For one chance to start over again
But I cannot erase or cover up the past
My mistakes are eternally written in pen

I wish I knew then all the wisdom I know now
I would have turned around and walked away
If I had a do-over i would say no
To the drugs instead of a half-hearted okay

I am completely unable to restart
I've been walking on this path too long
I'm stuck living with the decisions
That somehow all turned out to be wrong

Regrets haunt my mind every day
Scars leave me with no place to hide
If I run they stubbornly follow in pursuit
It's impossible to escape though Ive tried

I'm forced to handle my mistakes
Replay words i said but didn't mean
So I waste my time counting the things I would change
If I could invent a time machine
About regretting past mistakes. I think we all can
Some deep-thinker claims
the moon may well be hollow
and shouldn't even be there.
Hard to wax romantic under
a possible alien machine--
be it abandoned supply station
or fantastic dust-covered
Death Star. Guess this is what
most folks would call "lunacy."
solfang Jan 10
loving you,
is like walking
on a landmine;
suited with a
vest decorated in
dangerous explosives

one wrong step-
                          and it goes 'kaboom',
just like ticks
of warning from
my puny heart

                                    you hold a machine
                                   and prepared to shoot;
                                   as if I've not experienced
                                   the after effects of this war,

just so I could win,
the peace treaty
of your affection
I love comparing love with explosive— both are not safe to be held or toyed around.
Shadowhollow Dec 2017
I close my eyes
And suddenly a gust appears
Sending all into shivers
I light whisper and whispering follows
I feel things settle on my nose and lips
My wind goes wild
I can feel what is about to come
I open my eyes and right before me , laid at my feet is a winter wonderland
And I am like a kid again
Could This strange sparkling white stuff be a time machine
Could this solve our quest for immortality
Cause I'm feeling like a little kid again
Like I haven't aged a day
What a wonderous thing is my magical time machine
Would you like a go ?
It's snowing outside so I thought I'd write a poem :)
Vexren4000 Nov 2017
Tin toys,
In grandfathers home,
Memories of childhood,
Spent in times of antiquity,
A small tin frog,
A wind up soldier,
A train,
Times of simplicity,
Gone and replaced,
With cold glass,
And unforgiving sleek modern metal.

©BAS
MARK RIORDAN Nov 2017
THE KILLINGS IN AMERICA
ARE DOWN TO ONE THING
ITS THE CAPACITY OF THE GUN
THAT THESE KILLERS CAN BRING



THEY NOW HAVE MACHINE GUNS
AND OOZIES AND KILLING MACHINES
THEY HAVE THOUSANDS OF ROUNDS
TO UNLOAD ON THE SCENE



YOU MUST BAN THESE GUNS
THAT HAVE THE CAPACITY TO KILL
AND STOP THEM BUYING THEM
AT THERE OWN FREE WILL
ALL THE KILLINGS IN AMERICA MUST STOP. GUN CONTROL MUST BE MADE WHICH PRESIDENT WILL TAKE ON THE GUN GROUPS. BARE ARMS YES BUT NOT MACHINES GUNS PISTOLS REVOLVERS AND SHOTGUNS ALL SINGLE SHOT GUNS.
Yaser Jun 2017
This heart was born to
hands so cold

Hands that play
and hands that mold

They built it steady
They built it slow

They built it so that
I would know
This poem is written as a parallel to the poem "Machine" that I had posted a little while ago. I'm not usually very keen on unstructured poetry, so I wanted to compliment it with a simple, more lyrical piece


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