The streets are dark,
on Christmas eve;
with none to rule & conquer darkness...
Staring at an abyss...thinking there's hope,
the long Halloween's nightmare lies still...
Snow slowly stranding shadows upon such a splendid slumber - this macabre alley presumed a plain phantasm.
The scent of chestnuts...flattered nothing but a bitter sweet souvenir;
even you...resemble a phantom of grief!
That terrace taught turmoil & tragedy,
on Christmas day;
all reunited to cherish cruelty & carve out hypocrisy from honesty...

~ A. Rose

There was blood on my hands
but it wasn't mine
even if I wish that were the case for that moment
I couldn't risk it
the choice was to **** or be killed
my palms were oozing with the color red
my adrenaline was racing in loops
the man that I killed was considered my enemy
but in the eyes of my enemies on the other side
he was known as man with a purpose
a dream that he wanted to fulfill
he wanted to become a singer
to be the main lead in his church choir
singing chants of the holy name till dawn
but ever since the war
he had to put his dream on hold
now he had to sing for a new revolution

With the sound of the trigger
I caused his dream to be silenced forever
but it's not like I wanted to do that
It was either me or him
I drop my gun onto the ground and run towards him
his body was cold like ice
but his eyes were still shimmering
his head was looking straight at the heavens
I cradle his head gentle
whispering my sincere apologies in his ear
my comrades reach to where I am
asking me if I was okay numerous of times
but I was too ashamed to speak
I bury my head onto his chest
hoping that I can find a heartbeat
but it was too late to check
he is now singing with the angels

After the war has finally passed
I walk across death beds of the fallen
I put flowers on each of their graves
until I reached to his
I put my hand on his tombstone
my hands are now forever dry
but the memory still aches between my fingertips

But I can't be speaking.
I saw the signs—the cracks in her facade, the vacant stares, the trembling hands. I noticed, but I said nothing.
Was it fear? Ignorance? Or the hope someone else would step in?
She fought alone, and for a moment, she won. But the weight came crashing back.
Caught in the Nick of time. Or maybe too late.
Now we ask why, though we know the answer. We didn’t ask the right questions. And I’m left wondering if I’ll ever speak when it matters most.

I call her close,
relieving her, at a dose
of simple words,
uttered from a face,
one she cannot
rewrite nor retrace.

I want her to remember
genuine warmth,
when I place a single hand
on her heart, one that beats
in constant fear,
while the other hand
wipes aside her tears.

She'll drift back into
those uncovered shadows,
while I remember
her light, her canvas,
what color she'll desert
in greater favor for hurt.

It’s winter again
The war is long over, but the nostalgic smell of gunpowder and snow still fills my soul
I’m no writer but today I sit by the window to calm my weary soul
I spent hours thinking of what to say to you
But all that filled my head were lingering thoughts of you.

It was on a day life this we ran into our special place in the woods
We laughed and played
We were young and merry
You were beautiful and I was grey
I remember how my heart felt when you smiled at my with your crystal blue eyes, framed by the gods, your pale skin kissed by the snow, the growing blush on your cheeks creeping due to your happiness with me

Those moments soon turned dark
As we made angels in the snow, our nostrils were soon filled with the smell of gunpowder and snow
Little did we know, we had called upon death
Given her our village on a platter of gold
We stood and watched the village burn like pillars of stone
The so the snow became home to our beloved
I’ll never forget the bitter taste of blood, gunpowder and snow
I’ll never forget how lifeless you looked as I made those gravestones
I’ll never forget how broken I was as I carved the names of my beloved on those gravestones
So I steeled my resolve and did what had to be done....

It’s been a month and three weeks since I joined the army
Every day a battle, both seen and untold
Every day a fight for my willpower
Everyday a fight to keep the promise of your tears
Remember the day I left at the train station
Remember when you decorated my coat with your tears
Remember when we made a promise with the locks of your hair
Remember how you couldn’t understand why I chose to leave you for this battle of wills
Today I write down the things I felt that I couldn’t say
Today I write down the feelings I felt when your pretty eyes begged me to stay
I’m sorry I left you
I did it to protect you
Now I haven’t heard from you
Who knew love could make one so fickle
Who knew such feelings could make one feel crippled

So I lay there
Matching my thoughts to the beat of my heart
Badump.....badump.....
And so it went
Then came the sound of a missile, followed by a ringing in my head
Badump......badump
So the beat goes
There goes another home
Once again the air is filled with the smell of blood, gunpowder and snow
The ringing in my ear increased
The drumming in my heart never ceased
The lifeless bodies of my comrades at my feet
Once again I bury my loved ones
Carve their names to gravestones and sigh in defeat
What am I fighting for ?
I remember......it’s you.
But every day gets harder
I wish I had stayed with you and started a life with Aunt Agnes
I pick up my pen in fear and sadness
I scribble some words down in utter madness
In good faith that you’ll accept what’s to come without sadness.

I’m down in the pits once again
In the middle of winter
When the snow determines ones fate
But I’m lost in thought wondering if my letter got to you safe
Most of all wondering if you’re actually safe
I wish you’d write to me, let me know you’re okay
But you leave me wondering and wondering
Going mental, I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t okay
Days later a letter arrives as if on cue
A strange feeling in my gut arises with happiness of finally hearing from you
But my joy soon fades
I’m pulled into darker days
You’re no more
Everything I’ve done is in vain.....
I feared for my life
But ended up losing what I longed for
You succumbed to illness, a thief
What am I fighting for ?
I lost my reason to live
All I have left is grief.

The war goes on....
But victory is ours
This isn’t the face of a winner
I see the Angel of Death grinning at me
“You couldn’t protect her, now wallow in shame, you pathetic loser.”
I beg for death
But she wears the crown
I’m at her mercy
She grins and I frown,
She wins and I’m the clown.

Years later
The war is over
I’m old and wrinkly
Cursed with Alzheimer’s
Slowly losing my memories and becoming more sickly
As I sit by this window, writing about the old days
I pray for your soul and mine cause it’s on the way
I smile as I seal this letter and crown it with a picture of you from when we were younger
I smile remembering the better days
I’m no believer but I pray to God asking if you’re in a better place.

It’s winter again
I know this is my last
I miss you
I want to be home at last
As I breathe my last breath
I look at the world I fought to restore
I look at the letter I sealed with my blood
Hoping that my heart gets to you
Hoping my emotions made it through
And so I take my last breath thinking of you
The window my death bed
Now I can rest and make snow angels with you.

After a graduation, it's mostly mirthlessness for an introverted young guy interested mainly in music, English, movies & videogames. During this time, he makes his first steps at rhyming. Looking from the present, he's not satisfied with the most of the material indited by him in the first 2 years of this hobby. At some point during that time, he also starts to get immersed into sociopolitical stuff & as he spends time reading & watching respective materials, his views get established, but anger, being a reaction on injustices he discovers, starts to settle inside him as well.

At some point after that, he gets an occupation. During that period of occupation lasting a few years, his mirthlessness & anger increase. During a more than 2,5-year period after the barbaric invasion ordered by the underdisbanded north-east empire's dastardly autocrat with state security & criminal backgrounds, being under the influence of mostly his views, anger, spite, but also mirthlessness & escapistic fantasies, the guy indites his best lyrical works becoming, lyrics-wise, an antiauthoritarian-minded antihero, for the most part.

Anger, high-octane music, among which his main choice during those few years has been vicious techno-like bangers, the meticulous & sometimes pleasant process of inditing lyrics along with rereading them afterwards, & movies rich on drama, violence, & dread has been keeping his melancholic side somewhat at bay, more or less. But now, it's crossroads, which makes him want to disappear, to escape from reality even more.

the truest tragedy
of all poetry
is the fallacy
that every line you write
must be saddening.
irony is the counterculture of poetry.
i write death
to the community
and without a breath
the work is granted validity.
i write life
to the people
and without strife
my work is deemed feeble.

a poem is not a feeling
it's a moment.
there is no emotion
there is no reeling
it's not hopeless
it's not devotion
it's not healing.

your poem is now.

“O, who hath done this deed?”
        
“Nobody, I myself. Farewell./Commend me to my kind lord. O, farewell” ~ Othello V.ii
            
                                     *

The day my dad built my new bed, I cried for hours.
At last, a frame that will lift me up,
Not force me down.
At last, a frame that was fit for purpose.

No more hiding from the monster that lived underneath,
overhead and
in-between my sheets.

Somewhere to lie in without being lied to.

            (It’s just a bed, but it’s a safe place to rest my head.)

Somewhere to peacefully retire, not hastily retreat.

            (It’s just a bed, but it’s without him, so it’s without sin.)

There used to be so much silence after all the violence
          “And yet, she must die.”
You could use the very knife my life rested on to
Cut the tension in the room.

But now, Sweet Desdemona!
Now your rest is due.
He took your every breath away but
His chaos could not consume
Your famous last words.
He cannot reach you in your eternal sleep.

For months, I have thought you lucky, and envied your fate.
But now, at long last, I have found comfort in my own bed frame.