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Zywa 3d
The soldiers scurry

away from what I don't want --


and not can believe.
Novel "Midnight's Children" (1981, Salman Rushdie), chapter 3-3 "Sam and the Tiger"

Collection "Low gear"
Zywa 3d
Our soldiers wouldn't do

anything like that, we dream --


It can not be true.
Novel "Midnight's Children" (1981, Salman Rushdie), chapter 3-3 "Sam and the Tiger"

Collection "Low gear"
Bang! I surely heard the graze of conflicting thoughts;
setting a battleground across their minds.
Every word was in a blaring tone, as every
negative word the world spoke of it; was its
quick and merciless first fire.

Bang! Shooting down the innocence of
young, innocence that was held an infant—
still it hadn’t stopped man from killing them
in an instant. A snap of  a camera, of every violent
act played on the news, following every instance.

BANG! The gun grew louder to the crime that was
deemed by fighting for resistance. And how so will we
ever find peace in a world, if all our actions leave it
in so many broken pieces?
What if we stripped away all the barriers that separate societies?
What if the whole earth became one people with dignity for all?

Are you thinking about what this would do to your money?
Ya that's the problem with our kind.
We're not really on the immigrants side.

Life is one big soul test.
Traveler Tim
Frank DeRose Apr 3
Sometimes it is hard to know how to forge
     ahead.

The news has never been good, but recently it seems increasingly bad.

The grass is still green here, mom.

But it's drowning in rivers of red there.
Dead and brown and gone in other words and
other worlds that are even
still
part of this
     one.

What are any of us to do?

How can any of us bear not to bear witness?
And in bearing witness,
How does any of us retain the strength to live as though all is normal when it is so painfully obvious that it is not
so painfully obvious
that this cannot possibly be considered normal
or that if it is considered normal
then it is so painfully obvious that it should not be
that we should not want to be part of a world where this is normal.

So I return again to the question of how
is any of us supposed to forge ahead in a world at war?

Sometimes I take comfort in the idea that this, too, is the human condition.
We are a communal species, but a species that has always been at war with itself.

Nation against nation, tribe against tribe, clan against clan.

The only difference now is the scale.
We have globalized and commercialized war in a way that people 200 years ago would have found incomprehensible.
We have COD-- excuse me,
COMMODIFIED is what I meant
it into video games and movies and bumper stickers of AK-47s and how
how I ask is any of us to press on in a world so on fire that cities are burning and children are lucky if we can pull them from rubble and somehow hope that they, too, will not later seek to wage the destruction they were born into and borne out of.

And yet still,
The grass is green here, mom.

I barely know how we can love this world.
I hope that maybe we can still manage to love inside this broken plane. The myth of a phoenix is a beautiful one. Born of the ashes made from fire in a world that cannot cease
fire.

Always we hope for rebirth.

Somehow we must find a way to love
something or someone or some place.

In a world where the grass is still green..
And hopefully,
maybe,
can be green in otherwheres, too.

Grass does not grow if it is not watered.

And yet
we have poured a monsoon of kerosene on the plains of dead grass in a drought amidst famine.

Recall--god gave Noah the rainbow sign, said no more water, the fire next time!

What recourse do we have other than to love?

Love that which has burned
Love that which is not burned yet and which we hope to protect.

Love one another and hope against hope that this time,
Maybe this time

The grass will grow green there, too.
Francie Lynch Mar 31
I know you've heard of RINOs,
Perhaps you've heard of DINOs,
Some Christians are called CINOs,
Are those men mere MINOs.
Women become WINOs
(the irony doesn't escape me thouogh)
Humans evolved to HINOs;
Friends are friends
I'll never call them  FINOs.
Avoid lovers who are LINOs,
And teachers who are TINOs.
Could a Jew be a JINO?

But make no mistake:
Terrorists are Terrorists,
Jihadists are Jihadists,
Haters are Haters,
War mongers are war mongers,
Liars lie.

It's We thePeople, PINOs.
I'm sure you couold add many of your own ___INOs. And the initial letter on many ___INOs can stand for so much more. We need more substance in our lives and less veneer.
No! It's not thunder I hear,
It's the roar of sirens cutting the propeller noise.
No! It's not aqua I feel,
It's the rain of metal and fire.
It's not Petrichor I smell,
The only smell is here of smoke and death.
No, the ground won't get washed away,
It will be painted in red and black.
Hyades have fled today, The universe is for Hades to take.
by s.mckeown

The wail of war horns called the young to throw themselves away.
The peel of mortars, the burning oil launched by trebuchets.
Prehistoric tanks deployed their whistling rounds ignite,
While safe room politicians vow to carry on the fight.

I saw uniforms of every nation duck and dive their course,
Causes armed with children were spent without remorse.
Bloated greed with ruptured seams would spew the willing fodder,
As beasts of corporate virtue ate the souls of sons and daughters.

Every army from long since past appeared upon the watchtower,
From times of stone to nuclear drones each age was called to war.
From Genghis hordes to corporate boards, the parapets of paper,
Would burn again by sword or pen reducing us to vapor.

As if on cue a hush ensued that silenced gun and mortar,
Machines and horses slowed their gait and tanks would go no farther.
The quiet spread despite the rage from flags of degradation,
Lasers dropped from hands and eyes turned toward one direction.

A shaft of light had cut its way through clouds of wrath and fire,
And far below on the valley floor amongst the blood and mire.
The light had found a singing child whose arms were open wide,
The words were strong and strangely clear though the child softly cried.

The melody gently found its way a soothing truthful sound,
The child’s song stayed every hand with words of lost and found.
The dogs of war lay still at last, the beasts gave way to beauty,
The child sang with arms held wide to challenge king and duty.

The song gained strength, the soldiers stopped to turn and lend their ear,
Knights reined their steed to halt their charge from the front line to the rear.
The trenches emptied as soldiers rose to stand behind the wire,
The Gatling barrels turned their last as generals called cease-fire.

I dropped my shield and made my way to where the child stood,
His words cut deep so I felt the need to ask him if I could.
How he found the courage within to sing where death was king,
So I made my way over sightless eyes and mounds of dying things.

Over tanks and trenches, a path made straight to where the child stands,
It seemed I couldn’t help myself I had to understand.
He turned to face me, and then I saw his eyes were full of tears,
“You’re brave to start to sing this song in spite of what you fear.”

And all the while we shared our thoughts he never stopped the song,
While volleys of death were still at rest the words disarm the throng.
I marveled at this child’s voice and how clear the gentle words,
Could make the ageless monsters sleep and calm a war of worlds.

“I had no fear to start this song when cannons first were shot,
The tears are there because I know what happens when I stop.
But you made your way and now are here the only one to ask,
So I will teach you how to sing so I can rest at last.”

So I began with open heart to grasp the lyric and the song,
And though at first we sang together I turned to find him gone.
While song and tears draw soldiers near to come and take my place,
I learn to hold a humble heart that sings Amazing Grace.
Daivik Mar 21
Theres a genocide going on in 4K
And the world's acting like its okay
And I wonder who's more pathetic
The antagonist or the apatethic

That we shouldnt **** children is not really that complex
Unless you are from the military industrial complex
And you do not need to know the history of a millennium
To know its wrong to displace millions
And carpet bomb civilians

And humanity is not political
Unless you are a politician
And peace is not controversial
Unless you are hell bound on controverting
Well,you are hell bound anyway

The placards and slogans are up again
Its better than nothing,even if it doesnt bring any change
You wanna feel like you've done something
Even if its meaningless in greater scheme of things

In a world where everything little thing is trauma
The genocide becomes a newsroom drama
As they make you believe they are others
And convince you its fine to **** your brothers
And you get convinced in a day

However much we can scream
Continues the killing spree
From the river to the sea
Only hatred seems to be free

So theres a genocide going on in 4K
And it will never be okay
However much they try to erase the voices
And cover it up in chemical warplane noises

And if you wondering which side you should be on
If its the one killing children,its probably wrong
Dumbf*ck
Zywa Mar 21
There is a shot hole

in the photo on the hearts --


of fallen soldiers.
Novel "jl." ("recently" - the title also refers to Juno Linnaarts, 2016, Anjet Daanje), chapter August 1st, 2008 --- Collection "May the Might"
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