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I am
the child of countless
of lands suppressed, who can’t
see the brighter

I am
the daughter of a neglected
who can’t look in their eyes, for they don’t care about

I am
the son of a town
lost in a futile
who doesn’t know how to get out, as every path
is an imploding

I am
the result of my mother
forced against her wishes, to think atrocity is what bore my

I am
the result of my father
sacrificed everything, just to see my life pull

I am
the offspring of a
whose people is considered expendable, as if we aren’t all equally

I am
the result of a bloodthirsty
who pillaged and burned
any place we saw fit as if we carried their

I am
a taker of
just as, I am a bearer of

I am
a being of hate and
as mush as I am a person of
love and

I am
the sword and the shield,
the dark and the light
the scorned and the healed

This is my story
so much as it is yours

The children of humanity
You & I
Eric Pon Apr 2017
A - the atrocity that my life has become
D - the damage, and still,  im not done
D - the denial, the doom in the vile,  dangerous, daunting; forever defile
I - the image I fake of myself, I- my constant &chronic; bad health.
C- the cost of a chemical wealth.
T for the tension, paranoia and fear. Yet it’s the letter that symbols it’s here.  
I - irrational, insensible, intense. I - irresistible iridescence .
O- for the option that I didn’t take, O for the others that still I forsake.
And N for nervous. Nauseous. Night. N, the neophyte, turned narcissist knight.

Transparent to everyone, how its hold is too true
So clear its invisible, Addiction did coo:  

“when you wake and feel my crave,
and all my charms  different behave;
resistance, strength, pain & choice,
may mute my spell,  quiet my voice.”
“embrace what little light is shed”  suggested addiction, faintly he said:

“For I can **** the best man dead,
with only shadows in their head.”
Ciel Mar 27
I look up at the chaos around me
and see.
I see people saying their last prayers,
Waiting for their fateful endings,
I hear the church bell toll in its last call,
I feel the suffocating heat from the burning buildings,
I smell the smoke from the ignited city,
I taste the desperation in the air and the bitterness of regrets.

But in the middle of this tumult,
One thing stands out;
One person.

A little boy stands there in a black attire,
gray ash contrasting his dark hair
and tears stains on his ebony cheeks.
A grim expression marking his features,
He shakes as if freezing
and although the heat has almost become unbearable,
he stands in the middle of the flames
barefoot yet unharmed.
A scythe lays at his feet,
and a pale horse by his side.

As if feeling my stare,
he locks eyes with me.

And as the world burns down,
the reflection of the cataclysm in his brown eyes
and the look of innocent incomprehension he wears
is the single most heartbreaking thing in the moment.

Suddenly, I do not care about the screams and cry of the despondent goners.
I do not feel the harsh scorch of the burnt remains under my bare feet.
I do not mind the tears welling up in my eyes due to the fumes.
They are but a distant reminder of the atrocity surrounding me.
I can only focus on the strange guilt reflected in his warm eyes.
The first of the Four Horsemen series of poems: Death.
Terry O'Leary Sep 2015
Though still within our infancy,
we strive to thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.

Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys survival's harmony,
lays waste to life on land and sea.
Mankind, thy name is vanity!

By doubting Nature's regnancy,
defying laws with levity,
we strain our spheroid's symmetry
(perhaps a fatal fallacy?)

for, swallowed in the 'world of we',
we feed on vain insanity
with thoughts beyond eternity -
so strange when looked at mortally.

No use to seek a remedy
ensconced in ancient prophecy
for if not handled skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.

The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.

The wind, it reeks of Royalty
(awash in waves of perfidy)
while blowing ’cross the peasantry
(eclipsed in clouds of treachery).

The Queen, well steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of sculpted ebony
while sipping Sect immodestly;

to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.

The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.

Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
exalts the dollar dynasty
engaged in highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery.

Yes, Jesters and the Fools agree
to truckle to duplicity
and laugh about it witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!

To champion an oddity
(like two times twelve is fifty three)  
one reaches to theology
through paths of circularity.

In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.

Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;

and aged women, randomly
accused of wicked witchery
by justice framed in infamy,
were racked and shown no clemency

That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery

as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;

'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'.

The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,

now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.

And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.

To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
bestows a penny, niggardly;

though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies bulge, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.

When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;

and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
in ******-dream obscurity -
a mired madhouse odyssey.

Ignoring mankind's unity,
the rich and poor dichotomy
breeds dismal doomed finality,
eventual nihility.

Renewing days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting valiantly
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy

to toast the slaughtered enemy,
and so convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.

At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
with arms from finest armory

(embraced in hands so tenderly
bestow benign atrocity) -
and soon atomic weaponry
will extirpate posterity.

Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.

Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,

and rivers, tainted chemically,
polluted biologically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.

Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.

We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,

but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.

The modern day bureaucracy
abuses trust egregiously ,
embeds itself in obloquy
and offers no apology.

It paints the past in reverie
to camouflage the tendency
to ***** away our privacy
which paves the path to tyranny.

With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering piercingly
we've lost cerebral sovereignty,

and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else crowd a black facility
(with water board anxiety).

Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…
I have a dream! I have a dream,
To the racial discriminators, said Martin Luther King,
I have a dream! I have a dream!
To the evil-creating economists, I warn and ring.

Globe witness hunger, inequality poverty and unemployment
The world turns out to be bitter,
To all of you, I write this letter.
To create a world relieved from these and turn better.

I am a mad aspiring economist, a fool,
Searching for the right tool,
You turned the world with full of mess,
People are left with nothing less.

To the world, you gave theories,
Pushed us into a vicious cycle of injuries,
About your theories, you boasted,
It has created a few ruling and bloated.
Most of you worked as economic hitmen,
Turned victim laymen to fighting gunmen.

To the realities, your theory is distant,
Served no solution to the dying peasants,
To the few, we remain a psychological ***** and servants,
Tuned our lives to a depended migrant.

With your development lecture,
You have killed the entire nature,
In the name of ventures, corporates turned vulture,
Hunted and looted our generations’ future.

We lived a self-reliant community,
You killed us with imposed liability,
Our lives are now placed in intensive casualty,
The word that remains imagination still is equality.

We lost our humanity and identity,
In your eyes, we are just a market and commodity,
Your play with scarcity, was a mere futility,
We finally became a society, filled with atrocity.

Your useless lectures of development,
Put us under frightening & irrecoverable unemployment,
For a few, you got us into a deep-rooted enslavement,
So, now for you instead, we make a replacement.

To my questions, you neglected and ran,
In your eyes, I am foolish ****** common man,
To you short-sighted range,
I say I will bring in a change!

Today, I may remain lower and mere viewer,
A day will come, where you will stand to answer,
Writing a new rule, I would seize your beloved positions,
This will be my lifetime mission and ambition.

I say with all my limited experience,
I will put a test to all your conscience,
Are you just a fat-big corporate’s hand?
With people will you always stand?

I am not an economist,
I am neither an egotist,
I proclaim! I proclaim!
I am a revolutionary economist,

I know you will fit me a label,
I am sure I will be an economic rebel,
A rebellious economist.

I dream a world without huge inequalities,
I dream a world free from imposed liabilities,
I dream a world without poverty and disparities,
I finally dream for becoming an economist with no ambiguities.
The whole world is staring at new difficulties. It is still riddled with poverty, inequality, unemployment and illiteracy. The economists who dictated these rulebooks are the main culprits behind these. I am an aspiring economist. The economists mostly don’t stand with people’s welfare. Mostly they are ambiguous. They know only theories. They work as economic hitmen for many corporates. They are just a bookworm. Without understanding the pain and situation, they put forward new theories. Their theories sometimes serve good for the western world. One food or one dress or even one house cannot suit every person in the world. I have written this poem to the economists. It is better that all economist stay with people and find a solution that is most suitable for their enhancement. Else, people would reject their presence. In short, I say economist should be from the people, for the people, by the people, of the people.
Michael Marchese Oct 2018
The underlings stare
In submissive awestruck
Subjugation in landmine-filled
Landfills, are stuck
In the trenches, the feces
The carcass-strewn muck
Where the vermin-spawn ****
As they're taught how to work
And to fend for themselves
Like the Fall of Dunkirk
As the imminent doomsday device overhead
Incapacitates them
As mere prey to a web
Of a global dominion
Ambition connection
Subconscious hive-mind
Buzzing out the objection
And phobia-spreading
Pandemic misanthropy
Greed in disguise
Subsidizing atrocity
Not for me,

I am
The justified treason
The reason the man-hunters
Close open season
The cease-fire peacekeeper
The water war's rising
An MIA runaway
AWOL defector
Still haunting the tombs of detente
Like a specter
With what I assure
Mutually in the end
When I send go-aheads
On the ICBMs
And avenge the dependent expended
Caught in
This crossfire for-profit
Arms race it has been
Graff1980 Nov 2018
It gets late
as I digest
what I just ate,
some greasy food
and horrible news.

Slumber sneaks in
and I barely feel
it taking me
against my will.

In my dream
I see a pudgy
pale faced
angry man,
skin glistening
with sweat
and thin streaks
of sick salivation
sliding down
the side of his
plush cheeks.

A rumbling voice
of desperate rage
vibrates congestedly
from his strangely
changing face.

Bulbous bulges
of tumorous flesh
in random places
and irregular

His eyeballs explode
from constricting sockets,
causing small jelly chunks
of red, black, and white
to fly at my wide eyes,
while his mouth expands
pulling back to expose
many new emerging rows
of sharp, small, decaying,
black, brown, and yellowish teeth.

His skin ruptures,
stretching jaggedly
in unpredictable places
as he bellows angrily.
Slick gore covered flesh
falls from his form
seeming to smoke
with the putrid smell
rotting roast beef.

Not fully free from
the last bits
of human flesh
the creature
lunges at me,
slipping slightly
on the newly greased ground,
but recovering just as quickly.
Then just as his mouth
is about to chomps down
on my left arm.
I awake
safe from harm.

My computer still blaring
is now sharing
terrible scenes
of the latest
war atrocity.

There are corpses of women,
men, and children
with shrapnel shredded skin,
even little baby bodies
scattered amongst them
in a crater from
some local bombing.
Crimson streaks
trail the frail
disfigured forms
that family members
struggle to carry away.
Strangers moan in pain
not physical,
but spiritual,
and emotional.

My stomach turns
as I yearn
to return
to sleep,
cause I’d rather face
a fake nightmare beast
then see the horrors
stretched out before me
on my computer screen.
Poetic T Mar 14
Malignant gazes warped the
the fabric of the air around me.
I couldn't do anything but tell
her that to wish upon a dying star
                          will never end well.

The atrocity that clung to the ships
hull, was no less human now than
    the artificial meat 3d printed..
It taste liked chicken,
            there were no eggs in space.

Words like plasma cannons fired
around me bouncing off the walls.
Ok, ok listen I didn't do this to you!
Your the penny that could pay the price,
and this is your tarnished self pity.

I wasn't having any of her grief,
       though it could vacate me with ease.
Standing before her I said I could less
cure her than breath in space..

With that she raged in a language
of ferocious exasperation.
I knew that it was time to vacate her
need for some sort of vengeance.
I'd got the necklace on under my garments.

Pointing my pistol at her, she smirked,
             then a gargled laugh spat out.
That toy cant harm me, is this your last
stand what a pointless endeavour..

Now it was my turn to smirk,
        I don't know if it was panic
or confusion to why I was laughing.
            like a hyena knowing that the
pray had just cornered itself.

With that I shot past her, like a
random act, I still laughed loudly.
And then a buckling ache approached.
As the hull cleaved open like a piñata
hit feverishly by an excited child.  

As we where exhumed from our coffin,
suffocating in the emptiness of my actions.
I could see her fear, no matter her augmentations,
nothing could survive the vacuum of space.
I pressed upon my chest, my nanite suit
encompassing me.
            I was like a new born taking a first breath

Looking at this sorrowful figure, floating
in to the abyss. I knew I was partly to blame.
But now was not the time for respective thoughts.
This was about survival, and I used the small thrusters
to edge closely to the air lock.
                       Time to move on, time to breath deeply.
Pea Jan 12
i smell like diet pills i might've
gone to therapy and lie, she said
i was doing great. everyone says that
but my parents   are me. i'd rather
chug mcdonald's cola and forget
the taste of *****. i miss
my parking lot. i miss
staining the car seat

my father says i am going bald
i say you haven't seen the most of it

let's see how this turns out
i dissociate my way
to the future. no one knows why
i'm crying. no one knows i'm crying
i can't stuff a vacuum
i can't let bleed a dried out
i can't breathe  my mouth is bad

who knows there are things
worse than suicide -- i do
and i'm doing it
because no one is letting me die
everyone is so ******* selfish
why can't i be?
my life has gotten significantly worse
since eight years ago
the thoughts of killing myself
has always been my only solace

i'm so sorry that you don't matter
nothing you say or do
would ever soothe me
you can stop me
truth is, you're the one who stop me
over  and over
again. what atrocity
to drag one no longer fit for living
hope  isn't a morphine
it's just a playground
for adults who had unhappy

the world is spinning
people keep breeding
making money, spending
getting a job, dressing up for the boss
trying not to get *****, get ***** anyway
losing weight, gaining a tenfold
changing mirrors
dropping out of school
never leaving home
trying to escape the hands
always got caught by the eye
the walls are covered with ears
there's nowhere to run to
i'll always be found out
as if i did a some kind of grave crime
seldom do you come to this place but we remember you. surfacing at random -
to odd applause and all the gaudy paradigms at your betrothal.
wed to the mark of sugar cane. you sustain your incomparable vigil
on a toadstool in a cuckoo’s nest…
shackled to a Fae
Like a dime to a
lost deal.

I have seen your moons. crumpled in the disarray of lost orbits
tunneling through the miasma of an imperfect rebellion made of plump lips -
and applesauce.
a golden blue atrocity, unvanquished by a spot
of False Hope… on a speck of Real Life.
you have a temple to attend to.
you have all the
harm of sleep.
too alive to recover a memory.
and too forgetful to
Poignant  that, on this, most reverent of days,  ANZAC day in Australia and New Zealand where a remembering, respectful  population honour their war dead and pledge that no repeat of this can be tolerated…. that the world is reeling from two major, terrorist massacres perpetrated within the month in New Zealand and Sri Lanka.
Warfare of a different kind where the enemy cannot be bombed or defeated by a defending or invading force. An enemy that materialises out of the mist, exacts its atrocity with barbaric, sudden fury then fades back into the ether leaving no signature, no evidence, no trace of remorse.

Poignant , In a world left uncertain of its tomorrows we see the  European Economic Community  hanging in the balance, with the Mediterranean members teetering on financial collapse.
Germany held hostage by growing dependence on Siberian natural gas.
France, preoccupied and at loggerheads with its fascist street uprisings.
Britain, hopelessly enmeshed and mired in Brexit.
Ukraine on a knife edge against blatant Russian aggression and adventurism, particularly in view of the inexperience and total lack of savvy of its newly elected (comedian)President and its, often voiced, potential admission to NATO, (Which completely infuriates the Russians).
With Turkey on fast track to a Dictatorship and bowing low to Russian subsidised cheap fuel and gas via the Black Sea pipelines.
With the Middle East/ Syria/Palestinian/Israeli conflagration continuing.
The United States under a moronic, Donald Trump presidency withdrawing from NATO to fortress America and alienating its allies, worldwide, on a daily basis.
With an alarmed Japan rearming as quickly and quietly as possible.
With North Korea rampaging around Asia threatening with dumb bombast and its new found nuclear lever.
With Putin, the wealthiest man in the world, taking a cut from every deal on the table, from the Mafia barons, from the Oligarchs, from the peasants in the street….all the while ******* for power and Russian rule of the old Baltic states and, ultimately, rule of all of continental Europe.
And then there is China, planning 500 years in advance, already the blueprint set, once the nuclear umbrella dissolves, ready  for instant occupation of the priceless jewels of South East Asia and the defenceless, food and mineral rich nations of the South Pacific.

Poignant, that on this most reverent of days we hand our children the baton of influence of our tomorrows.
A crucible of golden opportunity or a deadly poisoned chalice?

Perhaps Sir Winston Churchill was right when he told the House of Commons in a sad and bitter voice, way back in 1945,
“****** War has taught us nothing about how we must not be.”

Cambridge N.Z.
25 April 2019
Harriet Cleve Aug 2018
...the threshold of a borrowed day stood before him mocking his manhood. He had refused to die when the levers of death were unleashed.A scorched black skull betrayed the ineptitude of mechanics. Yes, he had tremored and shook violently when the surge of electricity flowed throughout his flesh and veins and the vividness of the images projected from his memory onto his brains widescreen
horrified the very mind which had committed the atrocity of ******.

It was his hand he saw brandishing the footstool and crashing it into the terrified head of his neighbour. The frenzied last minute pathetic attempt of his victim to defend the most vicious injury inflicted with severe hostility. He heard once again the anguished brief scream screeching in the last desperate utterance of his victim. The pulped brain tissue seemed to spatter in microseconds and with it every thought and memory once possessed by this desecrated being
sprayed his face and accused him of wanton cruelty.

The eyes too accused him and stared with bitter intensity until their life force blinkered out and suddenly it was dark.

One brief instant caused him to bite on his tongue and split it in two as the electricity claimed justice shaking his conscience with bitter recrimination, defying him to live and yet live he did.

An unexpected power cut severed the link between life and death.
He was only aware of the eyes of the living in the death cell looking on incredulously at this unwanted twist of fate. The smell of burning flesh was like a taste of the fires of **** and damnation.
He knew too he had survived and took a callous satisfaction in his phyric victory,

As they warden unstrapped the clamps from his wrists and legs he felt a tangible relief. Fate had intervened and taken his side.

Suddenly through the door came a family member of his victim brandishing a wooden footstool as if he had suspected justice would take an absence of leave. Holding it high above his arms he swung it down on the head of the murderer and smashed his brains to a pulp.
A ****** had claimed a murderer and in that moment of terror the air was permeated with the fragrance of rough justice.

Silence settled on the scene and the tragic realisation that violence lay within the grasp of every man who chose to act on mindless impulse.

The power suddenly returned and an arc of electricity flashed in the air. It came too late for all who had come to see righteousness

Tomorrow another man would await the threshold of a borrowed
ElEschew Jul 2018
I know I'm difficult
So it's all okay
Every invisible second
Every pain washed away
I didn't tell you how mean they were
When you punished me
And never them
I would be grim
When I would get pushed
On the sharply laid rocks
lie and say I did it
to me
That seemed a more likely possibility
Any crime committed
Every atrocity found
I was surely to blaim
I never complained or wondered why
Maybe that's why I believed
It's always me.
It's okay
You didn't know
I turned into a chameleon
You couldn't see
What I did to them
They'd done to me
To you I will ALWAYS
The problemed child
Alot of kids gets swept under the carpet by teachers
Hungry for your legs
Lips and teeth tethered to my heart
Jumper cables may be required to get it started
Once we begin there is no telling where it will end
If we start we may never stop
For **** is hungry
And Trust is grumpy
So let’s just move along
Before dawn returns with our check
Correct me if i'm wrong  
You are the owner of this cigarette
And a handful of tunes
Remorse is the course you've taken
Sitting beside a lake of fire
Or is it a side of fries that you're after
Lines on the table and cold soup in your eyes
What a waste of space and time
Lying is grotesque
Either we are complex characters
Or I was dreaming of someone else
My heart is broken apart at the seams
My insides spill onto everything
I see myself in nothingness
No more identity, no more intensity
Only time left for rest stops and hi-fidelity
Lead graphs require #2 pencils
These fingers were made for tracing your soul
Give up control and collapse on your way home
As red-headed stepchildren unfold their own
Grief grows strong
Long ago we mourned for this moment
Destiny is a song returning
Remembering our strength
We engage with ferocious obscurity
A lot of living is at the cost of curiosity
We know that the world is full of atrocity
But if you buyout your own grave
And franchise some slaves
Then perhaps you will get the chance
To deepen your stakes in this life

— The End —