Ords of skeletons
Guided to hell.
Cain kills Abel.
Pure children of white drenched and torn of red leaviathans.
A whole humanity slashed by blazing blood splattering.
Gatlings trespassing skulls and brains.
Your flag triturating bodies for metal shards.
I cannot see.
This is a poem about war, for my great-grandfather,
He fought in First World War.
Most of the people who survived the War were mutilated or crazy,
My great-grandpa was depressed,
When he came back home with his family
He didn't eat anything anymore and decided to suicide himself in that way, dying slowly.
Torches lit the night sky,
A glowing river of flames
Burning with the passion of hate.
Body after body marching on,
Faces devoid of any humanity
And a grotesque amusement
Sparkling in their eyes.
Senseless chants piercing the air,
The place quickly becoming a gathering
Of ignorance and hatred.
The minutes tickled by,
The violence spreading like a wildfire—
No act of kindness strong enough to
**** flags painted the sky a ****** red,
The white no longer a sign of peace,
But rather the symbol of white supremacy.
This is what the place we call "home" has become.
The world would have been wonderful
if wars were peaceful
hate was lovely
There would be no one hurt
No dread , no threat
— The End —