Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#pacifism
I have no fear of anyone who opposes me, Shall I live? Forever, I am ****** to die, regardless Of the life I lead. So, To nihilism and cynicism; should I cling? Or fight for my ideals and beliefs? What is it, to fight? To be violent, to the pacifist; To resist violence, with pacifism. I fear no man that would oppress me, Shall you live? Never, would I Bend the knee before being Brought to kneel. Rightly, You can **** me But what I die for lives on; Drown in the wake Of those that love, Those that bleed What peace allows; Time to think, of What freedom means
0
Jan 30, 2024
Jan 30, 2024 at 1:03 PM UTC
Boa
Thunderous fighter birds, loud torrential explosives, blood thirsty Kalashnikovs, monstrous and destructive tanks, bloodshed by the river banks, numerous catacombs interred, dismembered bodies on landscapes littered. Vengeful hearts embittered, countless tragedies, misery corrodes like corrosives, lawlessness without caution, insanity without option, hell is incessantly let loose, for safety you may never choose. Men of beastly testosterone on vulnerable women predate. ******** are pervasively birthed; the seed of hate and discord is sown. Each course is decided by fate, essentials are ravaged by dearth, refugees to distant lands take flight, as they hope that peace will be in sight. Oh that men will cease to wage war! Oh that men will peace adore!
0
Jul 7, 2023
Jul 7, 2023 at 6:29 PM UTC
The hallmarks of War
No more poignant photographs. No more signs of the times. No more war stories. No more scars with stories. No more stories that scar. No more futures dashed. No more glass smashed. No more Heroes. No more ‘we rose From the ashes. The ashes will be too thin, Blown too far apart by the toxic winds. This cannot be a remix Icarus eyes have killed the Phoenix. There is no future, There is no past, When we face the atom blast.
0
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 11:05 AM UTC
No More War Poems
People call him a coward because he won't use his fists. But he's not a coward at all, he's a pacifist. When he refuses to fight, many say it makes no sense. But he doesn't believe in fisticuffs, he's against violence. Because he won't fight back, a man picked on him and knocked him down. He refused to fight that man even though he was knocked to the ground. You can call him a coward if you want but it's not true. He will not fight people and that is a smart thing to do. People call him a wimp, they say because he won't fight, it's a disgrace. But if there were more men like him, the world would be a better place.
0
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 6:17 PM UTC
People Call Him A Coward
The blistering cold freezes the ground we stand upon, the mud we protect with our lives, as we stand beside the front line as the monotone winds pierce soulless faces like knives, behind the mask, we soldiers are crying, we fight with our lives because inside we're dying. The death of myself shan't cause effect, nor stir, come back a husk of the man you once were, the slaughter of one is a tragedy, as Stalin said; but the massacre of millions is just a few more dead. We spend our last dying moments in a filthy hole, knowing our efforts had no meaning, maybe death isn't the absence of life but saying goodbye, aware of the waste of the bleeding, and screaming, the bullets that hit us, lose our blood, but the bullets we send lose our minds, we sacrifice our forgotten pride for the humility of the state, the motive long left behind. You shan't die from the pierce of lead, for you die the moment you start fighting, you bleed out and merely become a statistic, counted with the costs and explosives ignited.
0
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
Bloodshed
Life is capable of grand versatility; there’s so many different ways to end it. Yet, so few ways to save or preserve it. I stumbled over weapons left on the field; the years have punished them for their deeds, for the lives they stole. Men who made these decisions: Gods, Emperors, Presidents, Generals; somehow few of them paid for it, but soldiers and civilians did. They paid for the bickering with their lives. How can men dictate who others **** Where did this bloodshed begin? Where will it end? Not on this battlefield, nor will it end on the one miles from here. Not even on the fields that’ve stood still for a millennia. When will it end?
0
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 8:53 AM UTC
Walking Through Former Battlefields
There were two steel skinned brothers. One was a passivist the other a warrior and wherever they went they gained followers. Two righteous brothers split in their own conflict, wanting justice, but unable to work together. One would sit and meditate while enemies struck fiercely. He convinced whole families to join him and when he was attacked they were attacked as well, but not being steel skinned they fell to the brutal onslaught and the passivist brother would move on trying to do what’s right while watching others die. The other brother would rage against the abusive power battling Knights and Samurais. He went wherever there was oppression, fighting was his obsession, and being steel he did not even feel the cold hard strikes of arrows, swords, and knives. People would follow him and when he fought they fought as well, but not being steel skinned they fell to the brutal onslaught and the warrior brother would move on trying to do what’s right while watching others die.
0
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
Two Steel Skinned Brothers
If I am ever just okay, hope you know am far away from where I need to be, which is being happy. To fall in love with life, is what i choose to do everyday. Okay is middle ground, for peachy and all the hazy shades of gray. I move with a bucket of colour if gray i encounter today. I want to be ready to face joy or hate any day and always be in position to give some joy away each single day. And to those that hate me for the stupid smile on my face Because they think life hands me roses every morning please note that these particular grapes are not sour. chosen joy is sweet everyday. And I challenge you to pick joy every day.
0
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
Chose joy daily
Learn to recognize lies, while they stand at Their podiums, and proselytize, Like so many Sunday preachers, You can see it in their eyes, and Their shifty ****** features, though Their words seem sincere, Their subtle cues, serve as Teachers of their inner intent, so Don't forget your diligence, and Let them **** your dissent, with Empty promises and rhetoric, to Fill your head with lies about, How war is for the betterment, of Nations abroad, the sentiment Is laughable, the premise is a fraud. Cause when it all boils down, and When push comes to shove, Democracy has grass roots, it's Not imposed from above, and At the end of the day, money is The factor prime, it's the secret Justifier for this terroristic crime, First, they bombed Iraqi cities, In a trial of "Shock and Awe" That killed even more civilians, Than what 9/11 saw, and Once the cities were demolished, Halliburton then rebuilt them, and Reaped enormous profits, To the tune of 40 billion, and Among other things, in this "Just" war's spoils, were The underground oceans, Flowing full of crude oil, and We all fund these atrocities, These lies, these hypocrisies, well If you decide this ain't the type, Of thing that you can stand for, Write "exempt" on line 7, of your W-4
0
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
Remember Where Your Taxes Go...
The King of Shards and Metal Shaving, His consort; Queen of Flaking Rust, and the Prince of Powdered Pulverized Stone reign over nothing but dust. All they fear is a sudden gust - a brazen wind or rebel breeze that dares expose landscapes of chalky bone: skeleton-subjects who once bent knees, millions who bowed to their Majesties proclaiming idiot-edicts, raving, "This is Holy War!" "Righteous!" "Just!" Now they are bleached remains past saving. Blood was the wasted acid engraving tributes in sand to names-unknown. And none now hear the royal decrees from each clown on each crumbling tin-foil throne. The King of Gasping, Dying Moan, The Queen of Last Convulsive Breath, and the Prince of the Final Beat of the Heart rule in their realm of death.
0
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
Their Majesties
The ash will fall, settling silent while the barrels cool. No noise will come as the last head hits dirt. No words, no amount of prayer will set still hearts in motion. No deaf ears will continue to ignore at that point, and no one will wonder about the meaning of it all. With all weapons, hearts, and minds settled, maybe then we'll finally learn.
0
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
Praying for Yesterday
If the worst you can call me is naive Then I will accept it If the worst you can call me is pacifist Then I will live it Because if I am these things Then I have conquered my nature For it is the violence within That heaven will judge for it's favor
0
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
Call Me What You Will