"amunition" poems - Hello Poetry

War by proxy, the future of conflict super powers clashing on foreign soil in battles fought by locals divided into camps pitted against their own for differing convictions not for the lack of reasons; fuel to the fire added by their recruiters propaganda, subterfuge, subversion; no need to worry about ordnance and military hardware, ammo and suplies they will be provided duly by the sponsors; the agenda is to drown a patch of land in blood, with an island built from bones lonely in the middle, just big enough for a g-man to set foot upon, tie the laces of his boot; an then move on. But what of all the residue? Nothing goes to waste all will be reused blood to fuel bones to amunition surviving souls to generations of hate slaves If you're elsewhere building an oasis somewhere peaceful, someplace quiet, watch your back and keep an eye on the silent sky there are birds of steel and wires with their artificial brains roaming, cruising, watching, their senses and their talons lent to their puppeteers, mere employees looking for a chance, at that multikill promotion fingers itching at the joystick... but outside and back at home, a prison cell of boredom waits to chew them in slow motion to the bombed and the bombing, to the greedy and the mourning, we don't call this life hell is real we're both prey and hunter madness is contagious and haunting

0

Jan 16, 2017

Jan 16, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC

gabriel-burns

The Cracks Advance

War by proxy, the future of conflict super powers clashing on foreign soil in battles fought by locals divided into camps pitted against their own for differing convictions not for the lack of reasons; fuel to the fire added by their recruiters propaganda, subterfuge, subversion; no need to worry about ordnance and military hardware, ammo and suplies they will be provided duly by the sponsors; the agenda is to drown a patch of land in blood, with an island built from bones lonely in the middle, just big enough for a g-man to set foot upon, tie the laces of his boot; an then move on. But what of all the residue? Nothing goes to waste all will be reused blood to fuel bones to amunition surviving souls to generations of hate slaves If you're elsewhere building an oasis somewhere peaceful, someplace quiet, watch your back and keep an eye on the silent sky there are birds of steel and wires with their artificial brains roaming, cruising, watching, their senses and their talons lent to their puppeteers, mere employees looking for a chance, at that multikill promotion fingers itching at the joystick... but outside and back at home, a prison cell of boredom waits to chew them in slow motion to the bombed and the bombing, to the greedy and the mourning, we don't call this life hell is real we're both prey and hunter madness is contagious and haunting

56

You say that i don't do what you say, you say that i don't care, but what you don't see, me crying in a suffocating pile of regret, the fact that i am constantly at war, in a war that most times takes my focus, so sorry that i forgot one thing in a list of five, the sound of a bottle pouring alchohol sounds like bliss to you, but to me it sounds more like the night that she told me to **** myself, maybe, maybe i am a melodramatic fool, but you cannot say, my cousin getting beaten infront of me while i was to scared to say anything, does not involve me, and you saying that i don't care, does not make me perfect, it's more likely to be more amunition, him, coming at me with a taser, you told me you weren't okay with it, but you didn't try to stop him, why, why do you never stand up for me, even after all the **** she did to me, you react so much to me not doing my chores, and everyone always tells me to relax, sorry, i'm sorry that you would rater drink wine, And I'm sorry you'd rather smoke *** But for this Destiny I am not, I am nothing but a suit of armor waiting for the next person, Waiting for the next person to use me, But as little children painted with the perfect life, Stop to tap or bang or just admire, I turn my head away, Because I cannot feel guilt for something I'm not involved in, But this armor is painted silver, But underneath is a paper wrapped heart, That has so many dents, And so many craters, That it looks like the moon, Cascading over the water, The water that I am drowning in, Am I really the guilty one?

0

Sep 14, 2015

Sep 14, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC

ruika-jones7d

Mom

You say that i don't do what you say, you say that i don't care, but what you don't see, me crying in a suffocating pile of regret, the fact that i am constantly at war, in a war that most times takes my focus, so sorry that i forgot one thing in a list of five, the sound of a bottle pouring alchohol sounds like bliss to you, but to me it sounds more like the night that she told me to **** myself, maybe, maybe i am a melodramatic fool, but you cannot say, my cousin getting beaten infront of me while i was to scared to say anything, does not involve me, and you saying that i don't care, does not make me perfect, it's more likely to be more amunition, him, coming at me with a taser, you told me you weren't okay with it, but you didn't try to stop him, why, why do you never stand up for me, even after all the **** she did to me, you react so much to me not doing my chores, and everyone always tells me to relax, sorry, i'm sorry that you would rater drink wine, And I'm sorry you'd rather smoke *** But for this Destiny I am not, I am nothing but a suit of armor waiting for the next person, Waiting for the next person to use me, But as little children painted with the perfect life, Stop to tap or bang or just admire, I turn my head away, Because I cannot feel guilt for something I'm not involved in, But this armor is painted silver, But underneath is a paper wrapped heart, That has so many dents, And so many craters, That it looks like the moon, Cascading over the water, The water that I am drowning in, Am I really the guilty one?

44

There’s a bunch of thoughts floating around in my mind And i don’t know how to attack them one at a time So i open up my notebook and spit a quick rhyme Which is a sign That very much like you wine and dine I’m unashamed and unafraid I dont need a maid to have it made I’ll build it myself Just put two feet on the ground And listen to the sound of my heart Whicch is a drum The rhythm speaks in tounges And i want to comprehend it But i cant so i just send it Away to my love Who knows i lost my mother So she always tries to fulfill my wishes Which is amunition Just as tuition gets you a colleges degree Can’t you see Its the memories of the darkness That push us down Bit without yhem we’d never have a place to stand up Now i realize That we all disguise ourselves With the things that actually deprived us From a life that to our demise Will continue as we rise To the sky

0

Dec 4, 2018

Dec 4, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC

Thegoatbennett

A Scatterbrain’s Work

There’s a bunch of thoughts floating around in my mind And i don’t know how to attack them one at a time So i open up my notebook and spit a quick rhyme Which is a sign That very much like you wine and dine I’m unashamed and unafraid I dont need a maid to have it made I’ll build it myself Just put two feet on the ground And listen to the sound of my heart Whicch is a drum The rhythm speaks in tounges And i want to comprehend it But i cant so i just send it Away to my love Who knows i lost my mother So she always tries to fulfill my wishes Which is amunition Just as tuition gets you a colleges degree Can’t you see Its the memories of the darkness That push us down Bit without yhem we’d never have a place to stand up Now i realize That we all disguise ourselves With the things that actually deprived us From a life that to our demise Will continue as we rise To the sky

29

A look Un regard I keep receiving Je recois two in the 2 dans ma poitrine chest rapists violeurs have invented ont invente new ways de nouvelles facons of being d'etne assassines murdered I hope they J'espere qu'ils ouvrent open their leur gun safes coffres d'amunition or hang ou pende

0

Jan 10, 2016

Jan 10, 2016 at 9:09 PM UTC

john-michael-mawhorter

Untitled

A look Un regard I keep receiving Je recois two in the 2 dans ma poitrine chest rapists violeurs have invented ont invente new ways de nouvelles facons of being d'etne assassines murdered I hope they J'espere qu'ils ouvrent open their leur gun safes coffres d'amunition or hang ou pende

13

Difficult The way I see myself now The way my life's changed What some see as lonely May be right Maybe I need to be free Free To quote my own verses Instead of taking film From underneath someone Else's tongue Using hearts As sleeves Is my old fashion May be I need a gun So this amunition is aimed At the right coffin Instead of my own The need The drive Where the hell Do I come up With those When i've been Feed through My own antibacterial pasts That I can't scrub off This time What happens when Your life gets stuck?

0

Mar 20, 2018

Mar 20, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC

karisa-brown

STUCK

Difficult The way I see myself now The way my life's changed What some see as lonely May be right Maybe I need to be free Free To quote my own verses Instead of taking film From underneath someone Else's tongue Using hearts As sleeves Is my old fashion May be I need a gun So this amunition is aimed At the right coffin Instead of my own The need The drive Where the hell Do I come up With those When i've been Feed through My own antibacterial pasts That I can't scrub off This time What happens when Your life gets stuck?

30