#gunfire - Hello Poetry

I cannot write this poem. It keeps arriving at my door already half dead. I have tried, dozens of times, week after week, dragging the same tired words back onto the page like bodies that do not want to be found. Every line lands short, like a prayer that never learned how to leave the throat. This thing is so deep I cannot see the bottom. I tell myself I lack the art, the talent, the depth to tell the tale. So I sit here, inside a storm no one else can see, brewing in the pain, the loss, the unanswered questions that keep circling and will not land. I say I cannot communicate, but the visions do not care. They keep coming. I see it all the time. I taste the salt. My skin remembers the heat and sticky rubber, the way the sun turned everything into an oven you could never climb out of. I am here, far away from that place and not away at all, trying to translate a language made of sand and gunfire and silence. I reach for words and come up with air. What I am holding feels so small next to what I carry. I cannot write this poem, so instead I write the truth of that: I am trying to show you my wound, and all I have are trembling hands and a pen that keeps running out of ink.

0

Nov 23, 2025

Nov 23, 2025 at 8:35 PM UTC

PoetryIsCheating

I can’t write this poem

I cannot write this poem. It keeps arriving at my door already half dead. I have tried, dozens of times, week after week, dragging the same tired words back onto the page like bodies that do not want to be found. Every line lands short, like a prayer that never learned how to leave the throat. This thing is so deep I cannot see the bottom. I tell myself I lack the art, the talent, the depth to tell the tale. So I sit here, inside a storm no one else can see, brewing in the pain, the loss, the unanswered questions that keep circling and will not land. I say I cannot communicate, but the visions do not care. They keep coming. I see it all the time. I taste the salt. My skin remembers the heat and sticky rubber, the way the sun turned everything into an oven you could never climb out of. I am here, far away from that place and not away at all, trying to translate a language made of sand and gunfire and silence. I reach for words and come up with air. What I am holding feels so small next to what I carry. I cannot write this poem, so instead I write the truth of that: I am trying to show you my wound, and all I have are trembling hands and a pen that keeps running out of ink.

59

The sky above me Exploding with colors Eyes filled with awe The ground shaking beneath my feet But when you close your eyes And hear the exploding bombs It reminds me of The war They fought For our country A document signed on the fourth of July A pen gliding across such an important piece of our history our lives A birthday celebrated across the states does anyone stop to think How did we get here?

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Jan 19, 2025

Jan 19, 2025 at 2:27 PM UTC

DriyaniAlduri

4th of July: How did we get here?

The sky above me Exploding with colors Eyes filled with awe The ground shaking beneath my feet But when you close your eyes And hear the exploding bombs It reminds me of The war They fought For our country A document signed on the fourth of July A pen gliding across such an important piece of our history our lives A birthday celebrated across the states does anyone stop to think How did we get here?

23

I'll never **** with her, she's more lethal.. than a James bond villain… Her legs have more power than a Fukushima releasing her poison between my hips. I'm a rod and she's the water containing my explosion... but she evaporated, never watching... Realising, that what I release is like a virus. Contaminating the womb of creative contagion... You'll float in the abortion of my chock hold of words... You'll never be born, still born words, I'll burn you in a shallow grave. And you'll realise that I'm never to be ****** with. My words were like a machete of gunfire cutting you up before you even knew pain. I'm a nationwide hunt, and you'll be buried in my words, shallow rhymes, given a urinated burial... I'm relieved your here and not in my view.

0

Sep 28, 2019

Sep 28, 2019 at 4:51 PM UTC

poetic-t

I Buried Your Words In Shallow Veiws

I'll never **** with her, she's more lethal.. than a James bond villain… Her legs have more power than a Fukushima releasing her poison between my hips. I'm a rod and she's the water containing my explosion... but she evaporated, never watching... Realising, that what I release is like a virus. Contaminating the womb of creative contagion... You'll float in the abortion of my chock hold of words... You'll never be born, still born words, I'll burn you in a shallow grave. And you'll realise that I'm never to be ****** with. My words were like a machete of gunfire cutting you up before you even knew pain. I'm a nationwide hunt, and you'll be buried in my words, shallow rhymes, given a urinated burial... I'm relieved your here and not in my view.

27

Whiteboard and students, classroom with desks Who knew, here could be something so grotesque Lit up bright, full of supplies Art and math, science goggles to protect your eyes Who knew this is where fear could live Shouldn’t it be a laugh and a love note to give Wouldn’t it be nice if this was a sacred place Could you imagine if schools were all safe Instead of brightly lit fluorescent lights We see gun fire in the halls and fist fights Worst of all we see children dead In the ground we put to rest their head Bully killed bully, maybe it was someone mean Becoming the bully is worse! LISTEN to me this is keen Love your neighbors, love your friends End this hatred, or it will be all our ends Speak love or do not speak at all Believe in yourself, and believe in others … That is all . . . No!! There is so much more to be said This isn’t working, our kids still wind up dead What needs to change, what can be done To love your daughter and son? Yes of course, love is important But we need change, can we be absorbent? To soak up our mistakes and our flaws Turn it around look at what's wrong, take pause Address the real issues, we don’t need more pep talks We need a reconstruction, all the way down to the bed rocks

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Nov 27, 2018

Nov 27, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC

Dani32316

Bedrocks

Whiteboard and students, classroom with desks Who knew, here could be something so grotesque Lit up bright, full of supplies Art and math, science goggles to protect your eyes Who knew this is where fear could live Shouldn’t it be a laugh and a love note to give Wouldn’t it be nice if this was a sacred place Could you imagine if schools were all safe Instead of brightly lit fluorescent lights We see gun fire in the halls and fist fights Worst of all we see children dead In the ground we put to rest their head Bully killed bully, maybe it was someone mean Becoming the bully is worse! LISTEN to me this is keen Love your neighbors, love your friends End this hatred, or it will be all our ends Speak love or do not speak at all Believe in yourself, and believe in others … That is all . . . No!! There is so much more to be said This isn’t working, our kids still wind up dead What needs to change, what can be done To love your daughter and son? Yes of course, love is important But we need change, can we be absorbent? To soak up our mistakes and our flaws Turn it around look at what's wrong, take pause Address the real issues, we don’t need more pep talks We need a reconstruction, all the way down to the bed rocks

30

you couldn’t imagine the pains all over Being Fixed rigid from The Shot Another pain in my gut A horrible throb, throb, throb it seemed to me that I could not Even if I tried to Get Out of the line of fire

0

Aug 11, 2018

Aug 11, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC

haleycomet

(116)

you couldn’t imagine the pains all over Being Fixed rigid from The Shot Another pain in my gut A horrible throb, throb, throb it seemed to me that I could not Even if I tried to Get Out of the line of fire

16

She is the ocean Between two warring islands Not involved in the conflict, yet Most of the gunfire hit the water Belongs to both, yet Neither shall pick up the white flag To save the ocean from drowning herself Polluted and corrupted, yet The perceived saviours are really just pirates On little boats, but who dares cross the sea. Can't you see that she's damaged enough? Real saviours offer no solution, Offer no ignorant reaffirmations of It'll all be fine, because They know that forcing the sunlight onto the sea Will only burn her, yet A slow shed of light shall warm her. I am the ocean Between two warring islands. And my soul is lost at sea.

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Aug 7, 2018

Aug 7, 2018 at 7:08 AM UTC

shannon-14

As the sea

She is the ocean Between two warring islands Not involved in the conflict, yet Most of the gunfire hit the water Belongs to both, yet Neither shall pick up the white flag To save the ocean from drowning herself Polluted and corrupted, yet The perceived saviours are really just pirates On little boats, but who dares cross the sea. Can't you see that she's damaged enough? Real saviours offer no solution, Offer no ignorant reaffirmations of It'll all be fine, because They know that forcing the sunlight onto the sea Will only burn her, yet A slow shed of light shall warm her. I am the ocean Between two warring islands. And my soul is lost at sea.

20

It was the day the toilet broke, the day the bank was robbed when my wife walked out, suitcase in hand. Her head blown off on the pavement in the gunfire between bank robbers and police. It was that kind of day. That evening I had the toilet repaired.

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Nov 8, 2016

Nov 8, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC

stanley-wilkin

The Day the Toilet Broke

It was the day the toilet broke, the day the bank was robbed when my wife walked out, suitcase in hand. Her head blown off on the pavement in the gunfire between bank robbers and police. It was that kind of day. That evening I had the toilet repaired.

8

Today, I just want to exist without the burden of a million things plummeting on my shoulders... I think life has driven existence to an airport, I think it told existence to fly away, and now life for living organisms tastes like decay and airplanes feel like a death sentence; not even up above the clouds can you find peace; gunfire and chemicals will still find you even when you are 10 thousand feet in the air... Today, I just want to exist without the burden of fighting for my own survival but how could we possibly think that a ceiling alone could protect us? - Crimsyy

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Oct 22, 2016

Oct 22, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC

crimsyy

Existence

Today, I just want to exist without the burden of a million things plummeting on my shoulders... I think life has driven existence to an airport, I think it told existence to fly away, and now life for living organisms tastes like decay and airplanes feel like a death sentence; not even up above the clouds can you find peace; gunfire and chemicals will still find you even when you are 10 thousand feet in the air... Today, I just want to exist without the burden of fighting for my own survival but how could we possibly think that a ceiling alone could protect us? - Crimsyy

24

War does not stop for the good man who dies. War is too cold for the good man to warm. There goes his leg as artill'ry takes his arm. War does not stop when in pieces, he lies. War does not stop for the child who cries. There is no umbrella can hold that great storm. The tears of the orphan resound in the form Of the news that is silent to pleading and sighs. War is a hellfire like none else on earth. When war rages on, who minds the hearth In home which must necessity bind For no one is list'ning, no one is kind. The demons have run, the children have sobbed For men unknown, upon whom, the red gunfire daubed.

0

Jun 20, 2016

Jun 20, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC

lark-train

War and the Good Man

War does not stop for the good man who dies. War is too cold for the good man to warm. There goes his leg as artill'ry takes his arm. War does not stop when in pieces, he lies. War does not stop for the child who cries. There is no umbrella can hold that great storm. The tears of the orphan resound in the form Of the news that is silent to pleading and sighs. War is a hellfire like none else on earth. When war rages on, who minds the hearth In home which must necessity bind For no one is list'ning, no one is kind. The demons have run, the children have sobbed For men unknown, upon whom, the red gunfire daubed.

14