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Man Jan 30
Boa
I have no fear of anyone who opposes me,
Shall I live? Forever, I am
****** to die, regardless
Of the life I lead. So,
To nihilism and cynicism; should I cling?
Or fight for my ideals and beliefs?
What is it, to fight? To be violent, to the pacifist;
To resist violence, with pacifism.

I fear no man that would oppress me,
Shall you live? Never, would I
Bend the knee before being
Brought to kneel. Rightly,
You can **** me
But what I die for lives on;
Drown in the wake
Of those that love,
Those that bleed

What peace allows;
Time to think, of
What freedom means
Joseph C Ogbonna Jul 2023
Thunderous fighter birds,
loud torrential explosives,
blood thirsty Kalashnikovs,
monstrous and destructive tanks,
bloodshed by the river banks,
numerous catacombs interred,
dismembered bodies
on landscapes littered.
Vengeful hearts embittered,
countless tragedies,
misery corrodes like corrosives,
lawlessness without caution,
insanity without option,
hell is incessantly let loose,
for safety you may never choose.
Men of beastly testosterone
on vulnerable women predate.
******* are pervasively birthed;
the seed of hate and discord is sown.
Each course is decided by fate,
essentials are ravaged by dearth,
refugees to distant lands take flight,
as they hope that peace will be in sight.
Oh that men will cease to wage war!
Oh that men will peace adore!
The cry of a pacifist
Evie G Feb 2022
No more poignant photographs.
No more signs of the times.
No more war stories.
No more scars with stories.
No more stories that scar.
No more futures dashed.
No more glass smashed.
No more Heroes.
No more ‘we rose
From the ashes.
The ashes will be too thin,
Blown too far apart by the toxic winds.
This cannot be a remix
Icarus eyes have killed the Phoenix.

There is no future,
There is no past,
When we face the atom blast.
Yeah, so basically this is a terrible day.
Randy Johnson May 2021
People call him a coward because he won't use his fists.
But he's not a coward at all, he's a pacifist.
When he refuses to fight, many say it makes no sense.
But he doesn't believe in fisticuffs, he's against violence.
Because he won't fight back, a man picked on him and knocked him down.
He refused to fight that man even though he was knocked to the ground.
You can call him a coward if you want but it's not true.
He will not fight people and that is a smart thing to do.
People call him a wimp, they say because he won't fight, it's a disgrace.
But if there were more men like him, the world would be a better place.
Isaac Godfrey Jan 2019
The blistering cold freezes the ground we stand upon,
the mud we protect with our lives,
as we stand beside the front line as the monotone winds
pierce soulless faces like knives,
behind the mask, we soldiers are crying,
we fight with our lives because inside we're dying.
The death of myself shan't cause effect, nor stir,
come back a husk of the man you once were,
the slaughter of one is a tragedy, as Stalin said;
but the massacre of millions is just a few more dead.

We spend our last dying moments in a filthy hole,
knowing our efforts had no meaning,
maybe death isn't the absence of life but saying goodbye,
aware of the waste of the bleeding, and screaming,
the bullets that hit us, lose our blood,
but the bullets we send lose our minds,
we sacrifice our forgotten pride for the humility of the state,
the motive long left behind.
You shan't die from the pierce of lead,
for you die the moment you start fighting,
you bleed out and merely become a statistic,
counted with the costs and explosives ignited.
Do we Die the moment we start fighting?
"Every time you drop a bomb, you **** the God your Child has born"
~Serj Tankian, "Boom!"
marianne Nov 2018
2:00 am and it’s that other-worldly heat
rising from the deepest hell, earth’s centre
extra a.f., as she would say
and she would know
at 15—
our separate bodies (spring of her life, mine between) give way
to an inevitable biology

2:00 am and another long hazy chain of women
my foremothers, and we are
single file, through burnt fields in blazing sun
walking a thousand miles
searching for god,
or our free selves—
tired faith stirs
to rightful power

Again, and a heavy grey-smudged blanket
settles around me, uneasy
I sip black tea with milk, eyes adjust, and
night becomes a friend
morning light will appear again
as it does—
fear surrenders
to the unknowable

In the night, like my bearded ancestors
shouting sermons from rough cut pulpits, doctrine
five hundred years old,
I am making peace
but laying down body, soul and mind
not arms—
a new pacifism
old as my mothers
Joshua Baker May 2018
Life is capable of grand versatility;
there’s so many different ways to
end it. Yet, so few ways to save or
preserve it.

I stumbled over weapons left on
the field; the years have punished
them for their deeds, for the lives
they stole.

Men who made these decisions:
Gods, Emperors, Presidents, Generals; somehow few of them paid for it, but soldiers and civilians did.

They paid for the bickering
with their lives. How can men dictate who others ****? Where did this bloodshed begin?

Where will it end?

Not on this battlefield, nor will
it end on the one miles from here.
Not even on the fields that’ve stood still for a millennia.

When will it end?
Graff1980 Jan 2018
There were two steel skinned brothers.
One was a passivist
the other a warrior
and wherever they went
they gained followers.

Two righteous brothers
split in their own conflict,
wanting justice,
but unable to work together.

One would sit and meditate
while enemies struck fiercely.
He convinced whole families
to join him
and when he was attacked
they were attacked as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the passivist brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.

The other brother
would rage against
the abusive power
battling Knights
and Samurais.
He went wherever
there was oppression,
fighting was his obsession,
and being steel
he did not even feel
the cold hard strikes
of arrows, swords,
and knives.
People would follow him
and when he fought
they fought as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the warrior brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.
Atrisia Nov 2015
If I am ever just okay, hope you know am far away from where I need to be, which is being happy.
To fall in love with life, is what i choose to do everyday.

Okay is middle ground, for peachy and all the hazy shades of gray.
I move with a bucket of colour if gray i encounter today.
I want to be ready to face joy or hate any day
and always be in position to give some joy away each single day.

And to those that hate me for the stupid smile on my face
Because they think life hands me roses every morning
please note that these particular grapes are not sour.
chosen joy is sweet everyday.
And I challenge you to pick joy every day.
Okay is where I want to end up, in case of an emergency
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