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Reece May 8
The hill I will die on,
Is that most battlefields aren’t worth dying on.
Some people see a mob,
And grab their pitchforks and their torches,
Without even understanding,
What they’re fighting for.
Perhaps they love the bloodshed,
Perhaps they love the gore,
Perhaps they feel righteous indignation,
And are adamant to settle the score.
It could be some primal need to fight,
Or some could be sure that they’re right.
Either way, I don’t see the point,
I understand that sometimes a war is just,
Most times, it feels like a bust.
A waste of money,
A waste of time,
A waste of precious human lives.
All for what? Some measly land?
How greed corrupts the righteous hands.
So the hill I will die on,
Is that some battles aren’t worth fighting,
That they aren’t worth the pain.
The lives they ruin,
The families they break,
The friendships covered in contusions,
The human souls that are broken and bruised.
All for what?
She stood in the field of Violets.
A distressed lady in war.
While others charged in the battlefront,
Only I noticed her, from afar.

She was enraged, with dreadful eyes,
Murmured words I didn't hear
A cluster of sunken syllables
Rose a song too hard to bear.

Forgiveness, O Damsel of Violet
Release me from these cries
Let me sing a song so dear
For those hazel eyes.

Trust me O Wrathful maiden,
No harm was ever planned.
Yet here I stand, entranced by you,
Still spellbound where I stand.
diamond star May 6
In a distant land, a city bright,
Where olive trees bathed in golden light.
Fields of oranges, ripe and sweet,
Where children’s laughter filled the streets.

The markets buzzed with joy and song,
With bread and sweets the day stretched long.
And in the air, so soft and near,
The call to prayer, both calm and clear.

A boy named Adil, young and free,
Kicked a ball beside the sea.
His laughter rang through ocean’s roar,
His joy, untouched, his spirit pure.

The sky, once bright, shattered apart,
A deafening BOOM that shook the tide.
The earth exploded, a deafening roar,
Shaking the heavens, tearing the floor.

Adil, still laughing, thought it was a game,
Chasing his cousin, calling his name.
But with each step, the world shook more,
And childhood crumbled to the floor.

His cousin’s grip was all he knew,
They ran, though neither understood.
“What game is this?” young Adil cried,
As they fled with nowhere to hide.

They ran through streets of bloodied cries,
Each corner echoing with broken skies.
Adil, with innocence in his chest,
Held his cousin’s hand, still thinking this was a test.

Where once stood a shop full of sweets,
Now rubble, fire, and twisted streets.
The joy he knew had turned to dust,
The city crumbled—lost to rust.

Still, Adil ran, his mind confused,
This had to be a game, he mused.
“Mama,” he whispered, wild with dread,
But this was not a game he had been led.

Through empty streets, they ran in vain,
Until cold metal came like rain.
A machine, massive, towering high,
Once seen in movies—now his sky.

Adil stood, still thinking it’s a race,
The terror too real, too much to face.
“Is this the game?” he thought in fear,
But the nightmare pressed far too near.
This poem reflects the innocence of childhood, and how quickly that innocence can be shattered by the horrors of war. It was inspired by the ongoing conflict in Gaza and the devastating impact on children caught in the crossfire. I wanted to show the heartbreaking reality that innocent souls, full of hope and joy, are forced to endure such unimaginable pain
Juno May 6
My mother told me today the fact,
That more bombs had been dropped on Gaza by the Israelis,
That the whole of world war 2
-world war 2.

When learning about the horrors of the holocaust,
The obvious question arises-
How did that happen?
How did no one help?
How did no one notice?
Is so unfortunately clear now,
People don’t care,
Somehow
I could not tell you why,
I could not begin to understand

You’d think,
We all thought,
It would never happen again,
But if it did-
The whole world would stop,
But of course, once again, it is not

While many people care,
And help as much as they can,
There too many people,
so many governments,
Who turn a blind eye-
HOW?
Are they not human?
Maybe some people don’t know,
Yet I find that hard to believe,
People would rather stay ignorant,
It’s easier I suppose,
‘Ignorance is bliss’-
Ignores them to carry on with their lives,
But what about their lives?

And these right wing news companies,
Never telling the full truth,
They’d only report about the one missile that got through to Israel by Yemen,
But never dare to mention the hundreds,
Destroying
Slaughtering
Murdering
These poor innocent people,
Children who have only just began their life-
How can people say it’s not a genocide?
When over 60 000 people have been killed

More bombs than world war 2,
And the world protects the murders,
It makes me sick
My heart will forever break for them,
I will never not think of them-
The lost,
The murdered,
They cried out for help,
They will get their justice- I pray

I can imagine in the future,
The memorials and tributes,
To remember this horrible time,
Everyone in disbelief of how it happened,
Asking the same questions we did in school,
And what good is that,
To care when it is over,
When you could not even open your eyes
- To what happening right in front of you

-JJ
04/05/25
Yemen is a brave Knight
Who ventured where
Few dared to wave
With energy and strength
And with courage in hand
Yemen bold and brave and
Yemen took a bold stand
And inspired Palestinian
Hearts they would save.
3 Million Israelis run
To there bomb Shelter

Palestinians don't have bomb
Shelters.
Carlo C Gomez May 19
Affixed to the Lee–Enfield,
this blade, this trigger point,
stricken by ambush,
enters the melee
along the false edge,
cuts to the core,
like sympathizers of
William of Orange.

There are no daggers
apart from war,
just an ocean of
death and defeat,
its water,
its ever rising water,
swallows us whole.
SL May 1
Love is in the rain,
and among the thunder
Love is inside every bird,
shot down by a hunter.

Love touches the horizon,
wandering all around the sea
Love sits still inside every heart,
waiting to be free.

Love hangs in thick air,
creating dainty spots on grass
Love is inside every dust particle,
settling down on a carcass.

Love is among the crowd,
penetrating wide and afar
Love is inside every boy
who has lost his father in war.

Love is in the colours,
spread out on life's palette,
But is love inside every man,
having a heart so scarlet?
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