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Young lives are being slaughtered by knives
law and order seems to have no power
to contain the gangs creating such strife
brutality grows not by weeks but the hour
these crimes getting rapidly out of control
with no logic to the mounting toll!

The gangs culture has been allowed to expand
cities towns and villages none are immune
in the present climate they are in command
too often on the roadside flowers are strewn
lawlessness spreads as people are oppressed
helpless we stand as a society transgressed!

A bleak future violence escalates and discipline
is now lost allowing worrying complacency in
surely it extends far deeper into our culture
where nobody can see that hovering vulture!

Now nobody is safe from the threat of violence
as corruption destroys human tolerance!


#TheFoureyedPoet.
violence seems out of control peace and understanding forgotten!#TheFoureyedPoet.
Seema Sep 2017
This planet is made, of more liquid than land
Covered mostly in water
While blood covering a quarter
A range of land covered in sand
I close my eyes and scribble with hand
If the dry straits could actually mend
The ocean paths would follow every bend
Likewise as my thoughts are coming to an end
I am glad, am not living on a slaughtered land...


┬ęsim
JGuberman Sep 2016
There isn't much left.
That's the way it is sometimes.
You plan and plan
for the day
when there won't be any,
and yet you're still surprised
when there isn't much left
in the end.

My days are not like seven fat cows
or seven skinny ones.
My days are like veal.
They're slaughtered young,
and at night I feast upon them.

Some nights I can sleep contentedly afterwards..
And others,
I lay awake unable to dream at all.

Guilt keeps me awake.
I've become a kosher butcher of time!
Often my own.

That's the way it is sometimes.
There isn't much left.
So I plan and plan
trying to postpone the day
when there won't be any.
Rafael Melendez Nov 2015
I feel the presence of you through the pain in my teeth, as I sing along to the song I used to skip just for you. It always makes me think of you even though you never wanted to listen to it. The sadness you felt when it would come on must have been left behind with me little by little each time I let it go by without you knowing. You left some sort of residue on your footprint, a brand. And someday when god looks upon my soul, he'll see it still, branded by the giant, for the silver and gold I once stole.

— The End —