We remember the fallen,
The generation that fought,
That answered the calling,
Giving each generation after the war,
A mind, a voice of a second thought.

We won't remember the fallen,
Of this generation, respect them not,
The answer to the offensive,
Lies and giving each other fake hope,
Who in this generation can scream I will stand on the defensive line,
In War and not on the we are insulted line.

Yes, born 1990, known as a millennial,
I have no respect for most of them,
Even most of the Generation Z.
Respect for the Boomers and Generation Alpha's,
They have a hard life, no Technology,
Educated and well traversed,
Survived and shaped the World, as we know,
With mistake made and learned.
Where the technology age,
Leaves the uneducated and cursed,
Creating and shaping the world into a wasteland,
Mistake are maded and not learning.

Godsent; tangled in bed
Loveless until I heard the first word you said
Solitude to interweaving my hands with you
Penetrating the thoughts in my head
Cannot escape your eyes or memories of your hand

Your energy I am drunk off again
Moments with you I can feel my ascent
Body morphed into yours; wearing your scent
Love is beyond simply frolicking in bed

It's a state of a mind, an appreciation
It's a sweet embrace, no complications
In love with your body but your mind grabs me
Piques my interest, keeps me invested

Want my fingers to graze every cell of your brain
Want to taste every memory filled with pain
Absorb all your emotions and connect again
I have a feeling it's you and me at the end

I stand on an deserted and desolate field
Where many a man's fate was sealed;
Oh how the iron church bells pealed,
Sounding the dead of Inkerman

Long ago in foggy morning
Her Majesty’s soldiers lay a-snoring
That's when they came without warning,
Scaling the heights of Inkerman

Through the fog, cold and deep
Soldiers by hundreds quietly creep
Still maintaining surprise they keep
As they climb the hills of Inkerman

The battle starts; the cannons roar
With a fire yet unseen in war
Thousands die in the horrible chore
To take the heights of Inkerman

Many times the ridge changed sides
The wounded and dead, they drop like flies
And from the plains you heard their cries
From o’er the heights of Inkerman

Now the heights, with silent air
Carries no signs of the fighting there
But when you walk them, say a prayer
For the men who died on the slopes of Inkerman

Each ripple makes the visage fade. The muk that obstructed now whimsically decays. The browns and hues began to drift away. The picture becomes focused and now clarity remains. What I wouldn't give for one more day. To reach down and grab something. To look into my hands and see your affection, yet all I see Is pain. I can't follow you anymore. Now I only feel complete in the rain. Each drop falling down from brown clouds. In sets of twos and heavy with blues. All of your moments are passing away. All of them nome can stay. Just your teachings keep my company. Lessons to make me strong. Leading me to a future that I don't belong. I have to keep holding on, till the very last one is gone. I'll wear them on my heart and keep them strong. Memories and teachings are all I have now. I'll cherish them forever and wake them from the grave.

I knew a kid in highschool
Rather to say I knew him would be an overstatement,
He was a friend of a friend at most,
The boy that sat directly in front of me in my economics class
Second seat from the right, second to last from the back
The corner of the classroom between the whiteboard wall and the windows
I remember that scene like a diagram,
I couldn’t tell you anything I learned from the class but,

I knew a kid in highschool
He was best friends with my childhood best friend
He wasn’t quiet, wasn’t loud- he was a normal highschool boy
I remember the last words I said to him
Well not quite, I remember the vague idea
Something along the lines of it only gets worse
He was talking about the theoretic project where we role played
Each kid acting out as if they were in the real world
He said he was overwhelmed by the amount of work
I told him it only gets worse

I knew a kid in highschool
He killed himself during the weekend
The Monday they announced in I was sick
I was sick
His obituary isn’t up on the internet anymore
Neither is his facebook, he is nothing but a yearbook page
The page to a book I couldn’t afford
He is a memory on bookshelves filled with dust

I knew a kid in highschool but I had to ask a friend to confirm his existence
That I didn’t just make up a daydreamed suicide
I’m so tired of wondering what’s left of us when we die
I spend most of my life running from evidence of my existence
No photos, no yearbooks, nothing with me or my name
I knew a kid in highschool