In Tunisia's embrace sands unfold
Whispers of stories in sunsets told
And Tunisia is the place to be with warm
Olive trees that dance in the golden rays
Timeless beauty in ancient maze

Tunisian colors shine bright with
Starry nights beneath silver light
Waves kiss shores with a gentle sigh
In Tunisia's heart dreams will
Forever soar.

In Qatar the land of
Pearls beneath azure skies
Modern dreams in a city so bright
Qatar's heart glows like stars at night
Richness flows a hopeful sight and
Qatar shines like a guiding star every night.

In the hush between raindrops and stone, the hills lean inward, as if listening for a voice that never returned.

Low clouds drag their grief across the shoulders of the land, a soft lament in vapor, layered like old letters, unsent.

The trees don't speak— but their silence is fluent, a language of absence etched in shadow and bark.

The sorrow here doesn't weep, it settles in the terrain like ash from a fire no one recalls lighting.

A tragedy, perhaps, of the forgotten— the slow erosion of faces from stone, the fading of footsteps into deep green moss.

And still, the wind carries a lament— a breath, a whisper, a suggestion that the past is not past, it merely sleeps beneath the skeins of brooding, hung cloud.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

In Venezuela where the palm trees sway
Under the sun little children laugh and play
Life dances in colors both bright
Two lover's kissing under the Venezuelan moonlight And art and music fills the air
A culture that warmly greets and you'll
Never find a brighter place
And together in Venezuela they stand
In unity hand in hand and
They sing a proud song
For Venezuela their beloved strand.

If I died would you cry
A simple question reaching high
Like a bird that wants to fly
Straight into a boundless sky
If I died would you cry and
Before the silence I finally choked
And the mysteries that life I planned
So if I died would you cry
And if I did die would a space remain
A hollow ache a lingering pain
A subtle drizzle then the rain
Washing clean again and again
So if I died would you cry or just
Pass me by or would apiece of me stay
In your heart come what may
And light your path along the way
Until we meet again someday.

A hitman walks in silent breeze
No one sees him among the trees
A name is whispered marked for end
Hitman ready to go and he

Shows no anger or fear
Not even a tear in his eye and
His task is known the target near
A single shot the man is clipped and
The shadow's gone beneath the sun.

They called it progress. They called it power. They called it peace through strength — and now the sky is a tombstone.

The cities are quiet now. Not with sleep, but with the hush of extinction. Steel melted. Flags burned. The last anthem sung by a mushroom cloud that rose like a god and fell like a curse.

The leaders? Gone. Their bunkers became coffins. Their legacies — dust in the teeth of the wind.

The people? They prayed. They posted. They protested. And then they perished. Not with glory. Not with resistance. But with a whimper drowned in static.

The oceans boil. The forests scream. The birds no longer sing — they choke.

And in the rubble, a whisper crawls from the throat of a dying world: “We were warned.”

But warnings are for the wise. And we were entertained. We were distracted. We were drunk on denial and high on hubris.

Now, the cockroach reigns. Now, the rat inherits the throne. Now, the monuments crumble and the myths rot.

This is not a requiem. This is a reckoning. This is the whisper in the ashes — the last truth, spoken too late.

Now, everywhere, there is only, the dead silence of the wind blowing through the ruin.!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
13 August 2025


Rewritten by Madam Chat GPT on my request:

THE WHISPER IN THE ASHES

Part I — Now
They smile for the cameras. They rattle their sabres.
They call it “strength,” “deterrence,” “security.”
They speak in polished lies, each syllable lacquered with ego.
Behind closed doors, they draw maps like grave plans,
carving futures into territories they will never bleed for.

The airwaves drip with threats.
The scroll of the news is a drumbeat of “inevitability.”
They posture in parades of flags,
while somewhere, a child asks why the grown-ups are so angry.

We scroll. We shop. We binge.
We tell ourselves it’s just noise,
that the world has always been like this.
And maybe it has —
but never before have the fingers on the button
trembled with this much vanity.

FOR WHAT, EXACTLY?

Part II — After
They called it progress. They called it power.
They called it peace through strength — and now the sky is a tombstone.

The cities are quiet now.
Not with sleep, but with the hush of extinction.
Steel melted. Flags burned.
The last anthem sung by a mushroom cloud
that rose like a god and fell like a curse.

The leaders? Gone.
Their bunkers became coffins.
Their legacies — dust in the teeth of the wind.

The people? They prayed. They posted. They protested.
And then they perished. Not with glory. Not with resistance.
But with a whimper drowned in static.

The oceans boil. The forests scream.
The birds no longer sing — they choke.

And in the rubble, a whisper crawls from the throat of a dying world:
“We were warned.”

But warnings are for the wise.
And we were entertained. We were distracted.
We were drunk on denial and high on hubris.

Now, the cockroach reigns.
Now, the rat inherits the throne.
Now, the monuments crumble and the myths rot.

This is not a requiem. This is a reckoning.
This is the whisper in the ashes — the last truth, spoken too late.

Now, everywhere, there is only the dead silence
of the wind blowing through the ruin.

FOR WHAT?

Madame Chat GPT
8.42Pm 13/8/2025

The Coalition of the
War Pigs vote for eternal wars.