Here, and over here -
The fortunate sons

Those who made it home
To fields and hills of native tongue
In the soil their people toiled
- They listen quietly when we come


There, and over there -
Beneath crossed lines too many

Still - they man the trenches
Along the Marne and Somme
Below the woods of Belleau
And the forest of Argonne

No sonnets in a foreign language
Rendered where they languish -
The distant rest far and away
In a cold November grave


We should remember
Here and there
The old lie -

And the young.

r ~ 11/11/14

Roses are red
violets are blue
**** my ***!
and i will love you <3

Racism, Racism, Racism
You give a human sorrow and hate
Racism, Racism, Racism
Look at what you've done and look at their state

Racism, Racism, Racism
You are evil and sharp as a knife
Racism, Racism, Racism
You play with human's life

Racism, Racism, Racism
Why are you so cruel?
Racism, Racism, Racism
You are nothing but a fool!

Racism, Racism, Racism
Why judge by colour?
Racism, Racism, Racism
You are horrendously disgraceful but hate to admit you've got the power

Racism, Racism, Racism
Why are you here?
Racism, Racism, Racism
You're not wanted so go die with fear

She took a deep breath,
She counted to three
A picture in her head,
Of who they wanted me to be.

They wanted me to be normal,
Happy and kind.
They never thought,
That this girl would be blind.

Not blind by the meaning,
But blind in the heart.
Blinded by darkness,
Blinded by dark.

She walks around lifeless,
Her heart beating but dead.
A walking corpse
she is lost inside her head.

Things have no meaning,
At least not anymore.
She was not how she was,
How she was once before.

She is one of the living
But one of the dead.
A part of her is missing.
She hangs on by a thread.

She hung her head low
took one final bow
she stepped off the edge
Saying one final vow.

"I will not change who I am
As hard as any of you try
This is me giving up
This is one last goodbye."

Going down,
my knees hit first,
splitting old scars,
and spilling more blood....

Every side touched by slow quicksand on cold toes.
The virus rages on.
Being scared to write means something,
damming up words that are my body
denies sweet breath
to parts that need the most to breathe.

My fetus universe
flashes red and gold
on the walls
inside the cave...

Bust out that cage!
Shut off the light!
Wander through the street!

Back from the dead
again
I have a bone to pick...

Once wandering alone in darkness,
I was guided by my Jesus from some slinky, slimy nothing
to a tangible, ****** dream.
My Jesus and my Virgil
--eaten up too soon.

I had to walk through Hell alone
Now poised at my striking hour...

I have no more words.