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I'm sorry you died last night
I´m sorry your family got the call
I'm sorry they stole your life
For no reason at all

I know you wanted to grow old
See every exotic place
They hit us hard and cold
We all thought that you were safe

There is a stream of candlelight
On the ground where you fell down
There is blue, red and white
For you all over town

Everyone's talking about you
You didn't know all of them
People walked down the avenue
Singing the national anthem

You were just here
Nothing of this makes sense
They´ve captured each tear
With a big camera lense

The headlines are bold
Everyone wants to know
If it's true what they're told
If hatred can reach this low

Soon your name will be known
And they'll put flowers down
Stand by the memorial stone
One year from now

You didn't deserve this
The bullets from these men
Now they´ll always miss
Since you are in heaven

Only days have past
It seems like a nightmare
We just lost you so fast
All we have now is prayer

The nation's plan how to react
They don't really know what to do
There´s nothing but hatred behind the attack
and nothing will bring back you

Minutes of silence, a red rose
For you and those left behind
New stories about heroes
That in times of terror were kind

How we will recover from this
No one can envision yet
But we will take back Paris
and we´ll never forget

I'm so sorry you died last night
I hope you see us here below
Our flowers and candles won´t make it alright
But I just thought that you should know
For all victims of terror.
Is a rather large
Group of mothers, criminals and
the forgotten victims
Do not distribute or use my work without explicit permission.
Valerie Csorba Jul 2015
Tonight I missed a shot with nostalgia because of myself.
I've become such a slave to my phone that the flashing colours in the sky could not,
would not bother me.
Everything except for the device shining in my palms was blocked out like a voice I didn't want to hear in the first place,
Except I DID want to hear it.
I want know about everything that is happening around me without burying my face so deeply into Google to find the answers I'm searching for.
Nothing ever happens to me because I'm too busy in the comfort of my own home,
upon my own couch,
on my own phone worrying about the next Facebook status
and whether or not it will be entertaining
or in need of a dose of an opinion that is my own.

I recognize that I have my own personal "cell"-mate that will follow me wherever I go as long as I don't forget it on my kitchen counter.
I am shackled to my cellphone.
It takes me in handcuffs daily,
arresting me at my own free will.
A policemen of such small character,
yet so many brains.
And I already know my rights.
I already know my rights because I've researched them enough times with my mobile text book to have them memorized.
You have the right to post a status, anything you say can and will be taken out of context.
You have a right to an opinion, if you do not have an opinion one will be appointed to you by your desire to impress those whom share a friendship with you.

I am a servant to technology.
It's as though it is a part of my anatomy.
If it's not one item of electronics it's another and it has my full undivided attention.
As connected as we are, we have all become disconnected.
No one talks anymore.
Word of mouth has become word of texting.
Important pieces of information are shared via the internet because it's easier to get it out there all at once instead of saying it multiple times.
I sadly succumb to every chime I am beckoned with as it demands I answer whomever has interupted the surfing
and scrolling
and sharing
and liking
and commenting
and posting...
I put my phone down in disbelief.
Now tell me, "What's on your mind?"
Ella Gwen Jun 2015
Encased in black granite
solid substance she can't find
as she holds the hand of her son
but he does not return this in kind.

Sweet Pieta, sent by her words
to dance with dank, docile depravity,
lies so still now -
and her eyes can't bare but shutter
against such sure lack of he.

It is so silent, this mourning,
not one vibration can be felt,
just that of solid substance lacking
encased in the cards that we dealt.
Keah Jones Jun 2015
take this
barter my soul
throw it in the trash
plunge it into your next victim
get it away from me
It's all ****** up
I don't want it back
Jaimi M Nov 2014
We are
victims
of our own
powerful
lust;
with you
I've
experienced
everything
that
I've never
done
before,
and
yet still
I desire
to learn
even
more.
-JRM
Ottar Sep 2014
empty fields filled with noise,
echoes of the past misted voices,
desolate landscapes hide still life,
left behind like unwanted dolls
each one hurt then mortally harmed,
why are only loved ones alarmed,
fathers not given a chance,
                                               to protect
                                               or sacrifice a life,
mothers not given a chance,
                                                 to stand up
                                                 with all of the love,
                                                  and their own life,
sisters and brothers and all the others,
                                                 to reject en masse,
                                                  against diminished worth,
each victim, born by birth, like you,
each and everyone, now, in the arms of the Son,
if there was a drop of mercy for every fallen tear,
even with all of that, there is anger and there is fear,
and questions that scream from the heart where,
lifelong pain is the thief, that steals parts of those
who remain,
in pain
and disbelief,
that it happened to someone they knew,
that it happened ever at all,
that it will happen again.

Where goodbye, was...

And again. Happen.

That love could not save them all
from these acts that took them away.
Undeserved death.
By men who aren't men,
Or by a coward dressed as a man.

Once the news floods in
and
the spinning begins, and
never ends
never ends never ends
never ends never ends never ends
heaps of hearts lie cut on broken dreams,
sleep is a dream where a scream
is an alarm that went off too loud, too late, too often.

That won't turn off.
While Peace and Hope are near, and always seem,
out of reach, cause stains and burns like bleach,
come with cost where there is loss and the vibrant
memories,
already begin to fade.
Will not comment on politicians or prevention or police or the judiciary, please leave no comments about the good or the failures of the four above.  This is not about them.
drownitout Jun 2014
You left us on a Thursday, but we decided to wait until the following Monday to do anything with you.

You left your room a mess, more than usual, with sloppy scribbles on the walls about accidents and incidents. Even though your mother always griped and reminded you to be tidy and firm you ignored her because, well, you'll always be who you always were. Your clothes all thrown in the right corners, the cereal bowls filled with mold under your bed. The way you stapled your character through tangled cables and caricature. I loved you every minute of it.

I remember you showing me your worst at the Friday night lights, behind the bleachers. Between cheering and littered beer and soda bottles, you told me something that destroyed my optimism about things. I didn't even notice the plastic crunched under my feet and some kind of snack bar paste that ruined my favorite sneakers. I always loved learning, but not after what you taught me about what he taught you. I guess that's what teachers are for. But he took much more than he ever gave to you on a chalkboard.

I didn't go to your funeral, I was too busy downing the wine in the parking lot I stole from the local supermarket.
And after everyone had left the scene, I was so torn up I went to your tombstone, alone, screaming.
It was later on, maybe eleven pm at night.
There wasn't anyone around, not a soul in sight.

Just you and I. Part of me hopes your spirit was there. Another part of me hopes you didn't witness my blood red eyes and dribbling nose. Anyone could have tasted the rage in the air.

I don't want you to see me how I was, how I am now.
I want you to be in peace at it's best, as one should when they're resting like that and such. It's just that, this was too much for me, it tore me to pieces, ripped me to shreds. I hope they bury me next to you. The decision has been a struggle. But I don't want you to be so lonely down there, so I'm coming to join you. Because now I feel unfinished, like half of a puzzle.
Memories
Moans and groans of the dying and the living-dead
Last words: phrases that lingered
Still on their tongues
Bloods, boots and broken bones on cassava farms
where they fell
Crosses rotten, and this rusty brown shell
Tell stories of a past - that ****** movie
This ****** war
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