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Tep morsum le ila korpsum.
Ashes to ashes,
detonation into corpses.

Rebel en legion,
savor to each cranium,
delicate as a fine wine,
yet shall us be blackened.

Legion en acid,
rebel en sympathic.
Freed the souls,
yet armies took them back.

Clouds for clouds,
each foxglove mattered.
Deceptions to be deceptions,
shall each eyes peak.

Whistle whistle,
newspaper for towns!
March for the mourn,
em' do as trumpets blow:
Soul soil.

Reaper grims,
soul queue stacks.
Clank! Burst!
Move forward,
shall a man protect us.

Scream,
hammers to craniums,
each organs weren't sold,
yet each lives be taken in joy.

Amendment et cease,
clouds bright,
peonies for each skull,
their blood bloom.

Fed korpsum le ila bluumus.
For each craniums,
let the seed be fed.

Fed korpsum? Ne.
Sim korpsum yaai rirget.
See the corpse,
see regret.
For each blooming in their craniums, let them rest.
Let towns be watered.

None for us to mourn,
for them shall they be enskyed. Morally, for us shall be shaking hands.
A poem about war and its rebuilding process. Shall us be at peace and never go for wars again.
Eve 19h
war on war,
with millions signing deaths lease,
war on war,
what spectators call peace,
common people,
wishing death
upon shooting stars,
wishing death upon
common people
battling in war,
wishing for their ma
upon the same shooting stars

is it the soldiers, dead in war,
that you speakers are?
is it your life taken
in disagreement
of your leader?
is it your body lying
underneath the graveyard?
is it your loved ones attending
tears seeping,
while reading
your unredeeming
death ballad?
Cheyenne Apr 25
This is the hill I will die on.
I choose to stand on the high ground,
And fight in the war.

I will be bloodied.
Bruised.
Broken.

But I will not run to the safety,
In the home at the bottom.
I will not cry for mercy,
As you raise your blade above my bowed head.

I will stay.
I will empty your lungs of hot air,
And shove you over the edge.
I will watch your body lie at the bottom,
Pointed at gruesome angles.

For in your one-sided battle to knock me down,
I have turned the tide.
This place that I have chosen to rest
Is no longer my grave,
But yours.
I hear both your words and the unspoken thoughts behind them.
I hear the whispers of judgment that fall between the cracks in the floor and are felt from the other end of the telephone.
While I don't need your acceptance, it's still hard to accept that, as your daughter, you still don't see me.
What you focus on is what I lack in your eyes, and all that needs to be "fixed."
I am so much more than my shortcomings, and I deserve love and respect, even as an imperfect being.
I realize that now.
Yet, after all these years, your judgment still stings, and my heart continues to ache with the pain it brings.
So, I love you from a distance, so that I can safeguard my heart, so that I can remain whole.
I refuse to dwell among those who seek to undermine me.
I have won too many wars to fight another battle with myself.

-Rhia Clay
Is it even worth it to fight
Cause at the end of the day, it's night
Whether you're wrong or right
Keeping teeth clenched tight
The beautiful sun is bright
But at the end of the day, it's night
In Kyiv’s subway shelter, a girl folds
bullet casings into cranes—wings etched
with Psalms hummed as shells tarnish sunsets to brass.

On Donetsk’s front, soldiers pluck petals
to pad boots where redemption sprouts
from blistered roots.

Beneath Gaza’s shattered solar grids,
ants weave fuse-wire nests between Quran
and rifle text—six-legged imams reconciling steel.

An Israeli ****** texts his Palestinian pen pal:
Your olive grove grew through my scope last night.
They meme Moses and Mohamed vaping
under the Red Sea’s algorithmic tide.

This is why laundry dances on Mariupol’s balconies—
why tank crews plant sunflowers in tread marks,
why Bedouin teens stream TikTok psalms
where Hagar’s tears salted dunes.

But lick Crimean wounds, let Gaza’s dust
baptize your lens, love the enemy’s laugh—

to hear sparrows in AK barrels chant Salaam
in C minor, eggs cracking into maps
where mines burst figs even Judas craves.
the current war affairs between Ukraine, Russia, Israel, and Palestine. Regardless of past love or hate stories, follow the Bible's teachings and wish for peace and happiness. Use detailed descriptions and natural expressions, inspired by the style of the following poem:
it doesn't sound as terrifying
if you split it into
a million deaths,
a million lives, lost individually.
we're wasting our humanity
on empty background noise.
we're forced to lock our gates,
avert our eyes,
pay mortgage with our souls.
it doesn't seem quite as finite
if you just take your pills
and track your progress,
while they wash all the blood
off of the hands
that hold our future hostage.
a million deaths,
a million possibilities,
surrendered individually.
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