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a morning
of gratefulness
will heighten
my apple
or sprite
only that
one wakes
the ***
with golden
keys till
dawn flies
in rhetoric
with plea
of harmony
that properness
is parallel
as thee
a note on thrill
Jolan Lade Aug 2018
I need a mechanic.
Because you forgot me and turned my heart metallic.
You stopped caring and my gears turned rusty.
You never called and my display went fuzzy.
You don't write, you don't text...
Have you moved on to the next?

I'm standing still, sinking into the soil.
The rust is taking over, I'm leaking oil.
You sold me, and I want to cry but I can not.
You need to hold me, but you tightened the knot.
I need to cry but I can not, I am cold and on my knees.
Machines don't cry, so you told me.
I need you to be there, I need you to care.
Harry Roberts Jul 2018
To Make America Great,
When It Never Was,
Maybe To Return To Hate,
At Any Cost.

Black Boys Stung Up In Trees While Fat White Boys Tug At Their Mothers Sleeves.
Children As Slaves Just Not If Their White,
Breaking Their Jaws If They Dare To Bite.

Mothers Tears Made Worthless By The Colour Of Their Skin,
Still Happens Today Will Equality Ever Win.

To Make America Great,
Built On The Bones Of The Natives,
Crafted By The Hands Of "The Slaves."
But It's Always A White Man Claiming It's Brilliance.
Always The Minority Facing White Americas Silence,
Victimising Mexicans But How Long Before There's Another Victim?
People Aren't Proud To Be An American,
People Are Proud They Survived America!
Land of Lies
America
An open letter/poem
The sun beamed down on the sand,
with an unforgiving frown.
For it knew we would drown.
In the blood of the innocence,
and die in foreign land,
for a war caused by man.
Who care more for the oil
under some man's soil,
Then for his lover,
or even his brother.

We had believed them when they said,
"You, are fighting for freedom from dread"
"You, are fighting for liberation of the dammed"
"You, are fighting for future of democracy"
but alas it was all a lie,
for which we died.

They did not care when the news came,
to them it was always a game.
Money, Money, Money.
More, More, More.
Mine, Mine, Mine.
It was never to save,
or for freedom to the slave.
It was a just greed that sent us to the grave.

For only if they had learnt to give,
then maybe we could forgive.
but instead they were for themselves,
and never for others.
we shall not grant them the forgiveness,
that they beg for in an unconvincing lie.

For they cursed us to die,
fighting for the wrong side.
And now we have gone.
we shall not forgive those,
who lied, posed, convinced us to go,

We ask now,
is the forgiveness of those.
who we harmed, we are sorry.
We didn't know,
but we understand that forgiveness,
is hard for we have not yet forgiven
those that told us it was good to go.
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