I lost my pens and papers
my notebook was lost to time and war
they are scattered somewhere
in my broken home
ink dried, pages ripped apart
by the winds or by the soldiers 
i'll never know  
they mistook my literature for laughter
and my house for shelter
don't find comfort in my bed
collect your warmth somewhere else
we may share blood but never history
for my story is written in black ink, not red

Shoot the hands that carry our message
Which read the bloodshed of our fallen
O how the doves bathe in the ink of war and arise anew with purpose
The heroes of the sky hand in their limbs in return for the glory that bursts from the battlefield
Your delicate feathers must blacken at the tips before you’re recognized as the messenger
O winged angel, Fly away, Fly away
Look upon the world of destruction
And be lucky to serve on the winning team
O forgotten heroes, claim your medal from the ashes of the fire and lay there to rest
To grow fat by chipping away at scraps till your stature is reborn
May they shoo away your dignity from the homes that wrote our letters
And how they shed hollow tears when they finally meet your eyes
Their pride lives forever in the hearts of lost fighters
O glorious phoenix, hold your ribbon tight, when you cross the other side

The soldiers scurry

away from what I don't want --


and not can believe.

Our soldiers wouldn't do

anything like that, we dream --


It can not be true.

They have braced themselves,

their heels in the solid earth --


their boots full of fear.

Race 2
Same old **** going down
Graves of men now silent
Nowt much happening here
Just dead bodies buried
After being riddled blasted
Russians killed by Ukrainians
Prisoners mostly of Wagner
Sentences cut lives now cut
Politicians bathe in blood
They had quite a run
Still race in Part 2
Race 1 was a loss
No victory only death
Plus injuries and ruin
Battlefield injuries extreme
It's fine there's time
So much time here
Satan has all the time
In the world
Wait and see

A woman with a gun
Driven out. Cast out
by her neighbours

because she was killed internally
and could feel nothing
but pain and disgust

and because they too can
no longer believe who she was
at home, in the paradise

before the arrival of the men
who use you cruelly
until they discard you

and impale the broomstick
grandma's cane, their bayonet
or a bullet in you

The woman with the gun
wants to sleep again, to feel
the warmth of the sun again

She wants to defend
a new paradise, being awake
from the nightmare

of inhumanity
and free herself from the cage
of her broken body

More Meet
Eat the meet and feel well
Get a bad gut do the trots
To the toilet ***** it all up
You ate rancid meat
Or was it poisoned

On purpose as you’re here
An invading army doing bad
Nothing good comes from it
Except dead Russian soldiers
Who ate off meat in rusty tins
Found in a bombed out house

Call it karma for the war
You go there you risk
Not just bullets and shells
Maybe you were poisoned
On purpose or it was an accident

The result is the same
Ill Russian soldiers who puke
Some will die painful deaths
Give those well more meat…