Gutless guillotines

mounds a mass of razor blades

rise of the treaty

windowless day,
particles of strange salt on his brow,
generator man
on the coil,
double-sided,
a love for radioactive honey:
a storm in a teacup...

but for some reason
could not reciprocate
due to the metallic taste in his mouth,
and so he seemed driven
to build his electrical dream,
and took comfort from his pigeons,
the “lightning machine,”
the hair on his head bristled
as he discovered his purpose
in rings of glory that died
as flags of dust...

Outraged by indifference,
On the streets, neighbors once friendly Now stand in opposing lines. Propaganda posters cover the walls, Spreading fear and dividing minds. Ukraine or Russia, Isreal or Palestine. Capitalism or communism the greediness and division funding all wars

In countries once united and with the hope of, now torn apart.  Hopes and dreams dashed, shattered like glass.  The future once bright, now a dark unknown.  How can we navigate our way into a peaceful world

Blue and yellow flags, now stained with blood. A nation once united, now torn asunder.  The echoes of shelling, ringing in their ears.  The land of golden wheat, now a barren wasteland.

So the streets are filled with chaos and fear,  And the violence rages on without cease. Bombs and bullets tear through the night,  and civilians cower in their homes, bereft of peace. The loss of life and suffering is great, And the scars of war run deep and true. The conflict rages on without end,  And hope seems hard to hold onto.

A home, once a dream of safety. Now a battlefield, a place of terror. The faces of loved ones, now distant memories. hearts, once full of hope. Now shattered and broken.

Amidst the chaos and despair, we search for a light. The occurring wars, the reasons to unite, for a glimmer of hope is a reason to go on.  So they cling onto the small moments of joy,  like the laughter of a child, or a flower in bloom. In the darkest of times, they try to find strength in the small things.

Though the scars of war may run deep, the world can still heal. We can still choose love, choose forgiveness.  We can choose to build a better tomorrow, Where peace reigns and hope abounds.  May we never forget the lessons of war, and may we always strive for a brighter future.

May we learn to forgive those who have wronged us,  and work to heal the divisions in our society.  May we reach out to those in need,  and work to create a more just and equitable world.  May we never lose sight of the beauty of life, as we hold fast to the belief that a better tomorrow is for us

What did I do,
Quite the disaster, but if only they knew
The depth of the hole I find myself in,
Thank goodness ambition is no mortal sin.

I seriously thought this thing would be fast,
A simple invasion, a side show, a blast,
Over by dinner then pop the Champagne,
Ukraine by name only, Russia’s domain.

Never the thought came into my head
That a little B actor would play me instead,
Tenacious and cunning he's proven to be
But if chess is the game, good luck playing me.

The West struts its stuff, more noise than effect,
A mish mash of junk all easily wrecked,
Perhaps they forget the Russian resolve,
Stay tuned for a while and watch it evolve.

Ukraine is no match for what we can do,
Time our best friend and that's always been true,
We're patient and hardy, impervious to pain,
We'll suffer and bleed for what's ours to gain.

Don't read me wrong I want this to end,
I'm just very careful which message I send,
At the end of the day I'll make a tough deal,
And a big swath of land I'll invariably steal.

Ukraine won't be happy, the West will cry foul,
But don't be impressed, it's merely a howl,
A little play acting for show and effect,
As for this to continue they clearly all dread.

Ignore the odd glitches it's the outcome that counts,
This hasn't been pretty, a truth with few doubts,
But often what shines is merely fool’s gold,
Land is the key and Ukraine’s I will hold.

Our beautiful life, preserved
against the cold that may return:

cans with beans, old newspapers
worn out clothes, jars of jam
up to the ceiling
the hard land, and the hard way
of the great leaders, and the little ones
who fought for their own advantage
the heroes of steel, later torn
from their home and from the books

But we are still there, in our musty house
we still share - a beautiful life

At home on the couch
I crumple the edges
of the puke bag

The old times, the old songs
the excuses for the postponement
of the promised future

are back, back
from not having been away

We're still at home
in Old Man State, our
freedom was a dream

There are no more musicians
and no more beautiful
girls from Ukraine

The iron cold is back, back
from not having been away