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Apollo 3d
the feeling of an open mouth
humid
warm
breath that comes in sighs
and blooms over skin
the point of a spider's leg
tugging at the seams of eyelids
trailing drying tears
over your cheek
pushing between lips that praise
and teeth that crave
the bite of a lover
the sting of fear
in the same exhale
"I love you" whispered
over the din of war
"I need you" spoken aloud
in the reverent silence of worship
when the therapist asked
about my family history,
I gave her a history lesson.

I told her that growing up,
my house was a war zone.

I don't remember
what year it was, but eventually
the house collapsed into itself.
that trauma left me scared and hurt
with nowhere to go.

my mother moved out first.
she moved straight into
a life of addiction, and then
she found a new house
in the form of a jail cell.

my father also began
to call a jail cell his home.
he moved into the newspaper,
and then into the database of the
national *** offender registry.

now, we have separate houses
and conflicting beliefs.

we don't share anything
besides that story
and our DNA.

I couldn't tell her
about my family history,
because I don't
have parents anymore.

I have no family.
all I have is history.
Betty 5d
I have laid down my life as I laid down my gun
the battle is over
I don't know who won
their side our side
does anyone care when it's all  said and done?
Long ago and far away
at very the end of the hardest day
when silence falls on the blood red, mud red, grass
will anyone remember what came to pass?
Young men die and old men weep
for comrades lost and the memories they keep
hugged to themselves till their time is done
a long life haunted by the shadow of the gun.
I have no name
war took it from me
a symbol, instead of the lad I used to be
It is 100 years since the unknown soldier was put in his tomb.
when she entered
stillness was consuming
every movement
in the room,
including her

lost smile, quite face, warm tea,

He,

was waiting

in the dark void corner

suddenly their eyes met

his eyes swept over her

her eyes lingered over his
   
leaving airs of mystery
without a trace
at the end of a long war

He

was waiting

when she entered with another man
Inspired from a Russian movie "17 moments of Spring"  a love story that happened during the second war.
The piercing thrum
Of life begun
A song that doesn’t cease
Irregular strums
Of hearts undone
Heavy cries released
The battering drums
Of those unsung
Will never be appeased
I sang for some
Their bleak souls wrung
By what my voice would tease
A hopeful hum
Bright as the sun
A chant that promised peace
I cried for none
For I was one
Whose song was one that ceased
Now hums and strums
And thrums are done
All sound is now deceased
Mother to violence
Widowing silence
And no one left to speak
There, he hid alone,
In the dark, bleak, cold.
Seeking some warmth,
His arms were fold.

Dust and blood,
The scent of rain.
The terrible screams,
Made him feel pain.

He couldn’t see,
It was so dark.
But, within the darkness,
His blue eyes spark.

He breathed, for air,
He lost his leg.
He closed his eyes,
“Take me home” He’d beg.

In the long, cruel nights,
In the dark, full moon.
He would only remember,
The warm sun of june.

He had his share,
Of death, and blood.
His wet, ripped boots,
Were stuck, in the mud.

“No more pain,
No more death”.
He whispered to himself,
Struggling, for his breath.

As bodies piled,
He just felt broken.
A gasp, escaped him,
For their eyes, were wide open.

A smile, formed, slowly,
At the dark figure, before his eye.
And he knew, at once,
That he was going to die.

Was it death?,
That, he did not know.
He only knew,
That it wasn’t his foe.

The dark figure approached,
And whispered, in his ear.
“Don’t worry, Soldier,
It all ends here”.

“No more pain,
No more death”.
He said, with a smile,
As he drew, his last breath.
A poem about a soldier, accepting death as an old friend, in the WWII
Maja 6d
I took ten lives
to save a thousand

I lost a battle
to win a war

To hold up the halo
I got my horns,
because I cannot take the rose,
without taking all its thorns.
Does the end justify the means?

Well,
can the means justify the end?
Hey. I know it hasn't been easy for you lately. It never was.
You feel alone in the darkness.
You feel lost. It hurt's.
You are tired. Tired of fighting in battles.
Fighting to do new things, and improve yourself.
Many wounds did not recovered yet.
Yet you are still here,
Fighting in the middle of the battle in your life.
Maybe it is one of the battles that will decide your fate,
Who knows.
I know that you don't get the rest and happiness you want.
That people don't even seem to help you.
They just judge you.

But may I tell you something. Who are they?!
Who are they, to tell you that you can't, that you are bad,
that you should change?! Who are they?
You have been in war for so long that it became your home.
There is no silence, rest, and happiness.
But you still have the goal and destination.
You still can have a piece of art, poetry, beauty, and love.

Maybe it's not so much to enjoy,
maybe not every day is sunny and beautiful and filled with love.
But yet there is something, that makes you feel alive.

I know it's hard sometimes, it seems like it will never change.
You are tired, exhausted, sad, broken, hurt, lost, alone, in pain.
I am not going to make the pain, problem, or bad things go away.
But I am here because somehow the World, God, or the Universe wanted you to read this.
It was a part of your life, maybe not a big one, but at least it is there, it always was there for you, waiting in silence.
Waiting for you to fall down on your knees and cry out loud.

Now listen to me,
Listen carefully. Be brave, be strong, be happy, be smart, be alive.

Take the heavy sword that is covered with dirt and with your own blood.
Take it up, that heavy, strong sword to protect yourself and to win the battle.
Look around,
There are so many kind people who love and care about you.
There are so many beautiful landscapes and places that are waiting to be discovered by you.
And the most important, your destination. It is waiting for you.

So soldier, are we retreating, or shall we try and survive this battle, maybe even win it.
Your commands?
Red letter days
and friendly fire.
Will I ever go home?
Your voice over
the airwaves soothes.
But the things you say
cut like teeth,
sharp and vile.
You visit the hospitals,
shake down the morgues.
The batting of your eyelashes,
a ruse to your construction:
You're a steam shovel, girl.
Digging for Nazis
at the center of the Earth.
Mildred Elizabeth Gillars, nicknamed "Axis Sally" along with Rita Zucca, was an American broadcaster employed by **** Germany to disseminate propaganda during World War II. Following her capture in post-war Berlin, she became the first woman to be convicted of treason against the United States.
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