#worldwar2
It started not with blood and flame,
But whispers passed in power’s name.
A line was drawn upon the land,
Then came the gun, the sword, the hand.
A fuse was lit beneath the skies,
By suits in rooms with shadowed eyes.
The youth were called with dreams still warm,
To fight the tide, to face the storm.
They kissed their homes, their sweethearts' hair,
And marched to lands they’d never care
To know in peace — only in strife,
Where death would barter soul for life.
Steel rain fell where poppies grew,
And turned the fields to crimson hue.
The mud consumed both horse and man,
And time stood still beneath the span
Of shattered trees and smoking wire —
A world remade by man-made fire.
The cities groaned, the skies turned black,
And none could dream of turning back.
Factories roared with sleepless breath,
Mothers stitched the cloth of death.
Children learned to hide and run
Before they ever saw the sun.
The sea was red, the air was flame,
And all the maps were not the same.
Old empires crumbled into dust,
Their banners soaked with rot and rust.
But even victors bore a cost —
No side could count the lives they lost.
And yet, amid the cannon's cry,
Where angels feared to watch or fly,
A soldier shared his crust of bread
With one who moments prior had bled
To take his life — the bitter proof
That hate breaks down beneath the roof
Of shared despair, of human pain —
And peace can bloom in war’s own rain.
The medics bent with trembling grace
To heal the wounds war can’t erase.
The chaplain prayed, the wounded swore,
The poets wrote from under floor
Of trenches deep and tunnels black,
And dreamed of one day coming back.
But not all do. The nameless graves
Lie silent near the ocean’s waves.
The dogs still bark where soldiers fell,
And trees remember shot and shell.
Their roots grow through the iron waste,
Through helmets left in hasty haste.
Now decades on, the drums are still,
But shadows walk the highest hill.
And when the wind moves just so light,
We hear the ghosts who chose to fight —
Not for the glory, nor the gain,
But just to end a deeper pain.
The war does not die with the guns,
It lingers on in daughters, sons.
In empty chairs, in shattered glass,
In stories grandmothers may pass.
In dreams of those who wear the scars,
And wake to march through mental wars.
Remember this, you heirs of peace:
The cost of pride does not decrease.
And if you must take up the blade,
Then do so knowing what is paid.
The war may sleep, but not forget —
And we are in its shadow yet.
Aug 9, 2025
Aug 9, 2025 at 8:42 AM UTC
keep the photographs
the city is overexposed again
take more walks in the nearby woods
the world we knew as children
watch out for frogs and detonators
mind the wires
new aerial boundaries at dawn
no one steps inside by choice
adapt to the proper order
and no sleeping under tables
the reflection tower is a good place to start
tourist trap, a certain approximate
bring the thing under the couch
in case of an unexpected visitor
more nightmares cut out of the newspaper
what is an Astra 600?
three different hat sizes
Hannie says yes to ménage à trois
the joy in discovery
the joy in forgetting
like God without a compass
not a lot, just forever
Jan 2, 2023
Jan 2, 2023 at 11:32 AM UTC
We dropping it low before
it became came trendy..
We flying higher than any man
could shot us low
below..
We never lost control, lights below
about to be dimmed
Dropping our attitude,
we showed
that we could drop it harder
than any man an then some more.
Flying with our crew we were the angels
dropping our vengeance below.
No one was safe when we flew,
we were angles of death, of life.
We flew when others couldnt.
Our names were avenging beauties,
and we kissed all below
with the fire of kisses falling from above.
Feb 15, 2020
Feb 15, 2020 at 4:34 PM UTC
There are seven stages of grief
The first being denial
We deny that we are here
In this hell on Earth
We deny that some of our family members have been taken into the hands of death
We deny that we went through what we went through
In hopes that we will forget it ever happened
The second is the pain
The pain comes when it finally hits
Your family is dead
You will never be that same happy kid as you once were
The happy-go-lucky kid you were before the camps
The realization that your body will never work the same way
The next is anger
The frustration you have been holding back
Not at the Nazis or the Germans
You are frustrated at yourself
You are mad at yourself for being in that situation
You do not know why you are mad at yourself
But you refuse to place the blame anywhere else
The next stage is depression
The hole in your heart where your happiness used to lain
The realization that you are now by yourself and there is no one who will understand you anymore
No one will speak the language that us survivors speak
No matter how good of a therapist you are
It is a foreign language only select few speak
There is another stage we went through
The upward turns
The realization that you will be ok
You realize that you do not need your family to be ok
You do not need anyone who survived with you
You only need yourself
And that is all you have
There is another stage
This being particularly the hardest
It is working in an everyday life
With your new setbacks and PTSD
The new you starts to work properly
There is one more stage
It is acceptance
You finally accept what happened
You accept the fact that everything that you went through
Is not fiction
It is real life
You accept the fact that we went through inhumane treatments and tortures
And we accept all of it
We realize and accept that we were almost all killed off
Weather by sickness or ******
We accept we were the lucky ones
And never look back
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 6:46 PM UTC
In Vilna lives a young Polish girl, so wealthy and carefree
Suddenly, away goes she and her family
Taken by force, pushed into a truck
Belongings stuffed into a trunk
A train awaits as they file in
The door closes and the light is dim
The young girl asks, "Where are we going?"
Her father replies, "Only the Russian soldiers are knowing."
Weeks fly by on the railroad
Ever so slowly the train goes
The prisoners alike arrive at a town
Once again pushed into trucks and carted around
The girl and her family arrive at a mining camp
The grandmother says repulsively, "We look like tramps."
"The land is so flat!" The girl remarks
"We're in Siberia...." The father says with a heavy heart
Silk clothes soiled and heads hung low
Into makeshift mud houses, the capitalists go
The landscape, nothing but brown and dried grass
The young girl thinks, "how long will this heat last?"
To the gardens, she goes
To **** the hundreds of shrunken potatoes
Her family is to work in the mine
On little bread and cheese, they dine
Finally relocated to a nearby village
Everyone so hungry, none dare to pillage
The girl goes to school and makes new friends
She wishes hopefully that learning won't end
Her family with their own mud house
Having not to worry about a single mouse
A letter arrives one day
To war, the father must be sent away
He takes the train to the front lines
Everyone says their goodbyes
Weeks later, the newspaper arrives
Heavy casualties reported, from those same front lines
They receive a letter from the father
"I'm alive." It reads, "About crying, don't bother."
Winter creeps in and nothing is left to keep warm
The girl steals coal and wood shavings thinking, "it couldn't do any harm"
Quickly the money goes by
The young girl takes up knitting on the fly
Her knitted sweaters earn them milk and potatoes
She spends less time with her friends, though
The little mud house too cold to bare
They find new people to live with, no warm clothes to wear
Years pass and the girl turns fifteen, not young anymore
Seven years they have spent in Siberia, living like the poor
Word arrives that the war is completed
From Siberia, the Germans had packed up and retreated
A letter comes, saying that the little family can go home
They take the train and upon arrival begin to roam
The streets are barren with nothing left
They find their house, not spared of theft
The father appears much older
The weather in Siberia was much colder
Than what Vilna, Poland was like
The girl takes her father's hand and family alike
The years of exile are done
The war is over, the Allies have won
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 8:29 PM UTC
Kristallnacht
The night that was Fought
Jew against Aryan
Filled with sin
No-one had to win
But the **** party
Thought of a race oh so hearty
Emotions ran high
Soldiers were high on ****
Forced to their death
March, March soldier boy
Germany's little toy
So many of you young and coy
They created courage pills
To give you a thrill
So that you could ****
Just until
The dirt was cleansed
Grease guns
No more fun
British and Germans
Toms and Jerrys
A ration on sherry
Line up girls and boys
Off to the front you go
Some will lose the odd toe
In the Russian snow
Stalingrad
Little ones be glad
Most never to see their sons again
Germany full of sin
Allies for the win
Nuremberg trials for the ****
No more of their party
Sentenced to death
Most still high on ****
15 year old boys
Killed for spying
****** youth
Find the truth
14-18 sent to war
The bullets they tore
Too young to fight
But they had the might
Pride and honor
But the horror
For the warrior
It ended
So many dead
Slaughtered in their beds
We took their wives
And the husbands lives
We failed to see the problem
Was us the Human
So repent for our sins
Even though we took a win
Did anyone really win?
All guilty of some sin
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 5:36 PM UTC
This is the story of a world at war
From ‘39 to ‘45
The second world storm
It all occurred with Germany
Japan was there, the world was scared
To storm the beach of Normandy
Power struggle with no regrets
Imperialist japan with minor fits
Lashing out to focus on three
“America, China, and the Soviet please”
This led to begin in a new world war
With 2K killed at pearl harbor
The holocaust powered even more
To be ****** to death, until ‘44
June 9th, and yards to go
200 stretched from land to coast
10,000 men that made the march
Across the beach, into the marsh
A revenge that tastes so bitter and sweet
For the surprise attack, on the pearl harbor fleet
The event that took our country to war
It paid with bloodshed, 10,000 hearts torn
And when D-day ceased, and the smoke parted clear
We dropped upon 2 cities
Our own 2 tears
That revenged the fallen
And vanquished the feared
The axis fleet, now defeated and gone
They dispersed their union
For ****** was wrong
And what of Japan?
Well they restored their towns
From their cities destructed…
A full 2 miles around
And to this very day
We weep for the wept
That adopted our tears
And ended up dead
296 billion in debts
At least in today’s dollars and cents
For a country whose heart
Was torn to bits
60 million…
If that’s what it takes…
To conquer the axis…
Their lives, they gave…
...And the war, they won…
...And won from their grave…
And on opposing sides?
To win or to die
Japan, Germany, and Italy reside
With 16 million casualties
They pounded on Poland
The sacked the Soviet
They fought the French
And got all the way to Greece even
They never left the Netherlands
They were the bane of Belgium
They never gave up Norway
Or the liquidation of Luxemburg’s location
They caused a sort of havoc
Everywhere they went
They threatened the world
With everything they sent
They tried to take the Jewish and the handicapped
To hell
And ended up bringing on themselves
A hellish, brutish, world
This is the story of a world at war
From ‘39 to ‘45
The second world storm
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC