Jen Snow 46m
As
High
As
I could

Stand

On
My
Knees

No
Taller

Shots
Sound
Copper
Jacketed
Echoes

That
Shatter
My
Heart

Again

Cold
Gray
Stones
Range
Miles
In
Every
Direction

Sucker Punched

The
Wind
Falls
From
My
Lungs

Water
Streams
From
My
Eyes­

And

I

Know

I

Must

Return

To
That
Arlington
City

So
Full
Of
Farewells

And
Friends

I
Used
To
Know
개자닌 14h
When I was young,
I was like a safe kept hidden
Staying inside a shell
Following, Obeying what was written

I was ignorant yet curious
What was happening out there?
Out in the reality world?
Is it much as peaceful right here?

Til I was ready to be set free
Molded and taught first by family,
Before letting go in this world,
That I thought I could be happy.

But no, I didn't
Seldom I felt peace, always wars.
Yet not bombs and jets flying,
but death and life between bars.

Now everything was contaminated.
It's more like a contagious disease.
Spreading out the bad vibes.
Every turn, every corners increase.

Curses and blames were the words.
Out here, even children were used.
History repeats itself.
Depending whether either are abused.
Spread Love not hate <3
How magnificent it must be to be written about.
Your name replaced by descriptions of the way your pink sumptuous smile looked in the shoddy light of your living room last night.
The people read his paper for entertainment.
So could you call it progress?
Possibly character development.
To read about yourself flourishing into the miscreant you were always destined to be.
How engrossing it must be to gradually watch that pink sumptuous smile turn into nothing but a starless hole.
The critics are bored and dehydrated. On their hands and knees, they beg him to compose more.
That's why he stays in the living room and stares at me.
He waits for me to make one wrong move.
But there is no more life in this room.
Only a pen and a subject.
I don't need you to write anymore.
How come we have to die
To show up in someone's mind
You can have a thousand friends
That all showed up after the end
Who pretend that they were there,
Who pretended that they had cared.
All the people standing over my hole,
I'm staring at you from six feet down here
But if this life isn't, why believe death is fair.

They keep speaking of tragedy
Being the only way to really promote peace
Cooking enough enemy meat to have a feast
But the enemy is me when the enemy is you
Both told we are right, both believing it's true.
When we both fell to the floor its only then we knew
We truly only have one life to lose.

Remember being kids? Remember where we lived?
Living the only place we could afford to go,
Spent eight years getting out of the mold
So when this anxiety and panic even try to take hold
I use those cards I was dealt to never fold.
Im not asking for a thing because everything
I ever had was mine
And if it all fades away that's absolutely fine
The memories are the only thing I won't leave behind.
And that's absolutely fine.
one of the Orient’s oldest
and most beautiful important cities
inhabited for thousands of years
by generations after generations
of craftsmen, merchants, artists, dynasties,
famous architects of all styles and religions,
the western end of the old silk road
home to over 2 million citizens
until not long ago

a few weeks of modern warfare
were enough to destroy
what hundreds of generations had built
for their living as well as their sense of beauty

     rockets exploded churches, temples, and mosques
     artillery pulverized ancient palaces and new houses

     barrel bombs and poison gas
     killed the people

on tv we now see acres of urban wasteland
miles of rubble with no life
except for occasional tanks and soldiers
proclaiming victory over these ruins
in the name of a dictator whose regime
has become a puppet in global power games
no matter what the cost in lives or things

     to destroy is easy
     building things up is hard work

     with friends like these
     who needs enemies
For the ancient city of Aleppo as it used to be, see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aleppo
I am the silhouette of the dark,
I am the kid lost in the park.
I am the light of shooting star,
I can't see you it's so far.
I am the bullet in the Syria,
I didn't see anything like this in Biblia.
I am the last person of humanity,
I think it's just brutality.
I am the screams of dead kids,
They are open for all the bids.
I am the silence of this chaos,
I am calling you so "Vamos!".
I am the sound this despair,
I think it's not so fair.
I am just nothing
Cause i can't do anything for this...
I can't find a word for explain what i feel.
He is a fallen soldier
With his uniform torn, and his heart or his sleeve
He looks twenty years older
With is wounds open, ready to bleed

It was not what he thought it would be
Not just justice and bravery
Now he's gone while he's talking to me
His mind keeps returning to imagines he can't unsee

I am sorry, cause I was no comfort
Even when I held you in my arms
Every morning there is so much effort
To wake up, and give the day a chance

It is not easy to save everyone
Though you believed once that you could
Now look at what you have become
Because you were honest and good

He is a fallen soldier
Who woke up while everyone else fell
He is twenty years older
Carrying them all while carrying himself
22. Februar 2018
What do you think?
how do I write about the beauty of the world
when barefoot people pass before my window
in search of shelter

how do I share my pleasure of the birds' sweet song at dawn
when I see faces etched with panic
from the deafening blast of bombs

how to rejoice in love and friendship
when meeting people who could barely save their lives
after burying their loved ones

how can I write with passion of the kindness of the human heart
when I see thousands fleeing from the ruins of their homes
only to face police   walls   barbed wire

true words are hard to find
as said a poet of an older war

    when it is a lie to speak
    a lie to keep silent

not easy
The poet from which my last two lines come: John Balaban, Vietnam veteran:
“A poet had better keep his mouth shut,” he writes in “Saying Good-by to Mr. and Mrs. My, Saigon, 1972”:
unless he’s found words to comfort and teach.
Today, comfort and teaching themselves deceive
and it takes cruelty to make any friends
when it is a lie to speak, a lie to keep silent.
I swallowed an AK-47 when I was 10 years old.
And ever since that day I've had bullets shooting out my mouth, ears and nose.

My emotions are nail bombs exploding around my organs and skin.
Eternal bleeding has become critical.
My words are shotguns whenever I open my mouth.
I'm scared to speak how I feel.
My actions are fighter jets causing collisions and collateral damage upon myself.
I'd suggest taking a few steps back before you have to bare the brunt of it.

There is no beauty in warfare and I'm at war with myself.

My body is a post apocalyptic tragedy of deceased aspirations and mutated dreams.
Covered head to toe with crevasas and holes where my two halves fought to become one.  
I'm exhausted from the toxicity of the air I breathe.

No flowers grow here and the rivers have run dry.
There is no source of food, progression or hope.
I have tried to endure all forms of natural disasters but the only disaster is me.

My life is fiction and I am not real.
I'm the in game character no one wants to choose.
I have no good and I have no bad.
I cannot defend for you, me, or anything to be had.

My half life is shorter than the length of your arm.
By the time you find stability on this cavern floor there will be nothing left to stand upon.

There's a sinkhole forming and I fear you're going to fall in it.
I'd suggest you choose a different character.
dnt do it
Bomb lives till it blast
Making a live, dead

At the end, it commits suicide.
Genre: Haiku
Note: Against lethal intelligence, call for a peaceful air
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