Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sara Feb 2015
if your mind is a warzone let battle commence,
i will send in my soldiers to fight

if your mind is a warzone the army i lend
will chase the demons from your mind

your mind is a warzone and as soon as i enter
there's no sound to be heard but silence

your mind is a warzone; i stand at the centre
to offer my few words of guidance

your mind is a warzone but i fall to my knees
when i see that you're under attack

your mind is a warzone, from here i can see
a mirage of tears you held back

your mind is a warzone and there in the corner
lies a pile of broken words

when it's one in the same: chaos and order
there are only whispers to be heard

if your mind is a warzone do not try to say
that you must fight this battle alone

because if your mind is a warzone then please do explain
why when i'm in it i feel like i'm home?u
the sacrifices you make for the people you love
Dark Smile May 2016
Where wars are fought with words
And slammed doors
Shouting
Raised voices
And desperation
Exasperation
A threatening fist raised
Shock
I am unhappy you make me that way
Sobbing
Sob in front the kids
Scream in front of them too
Make them believe that love is a lie
Make them never want to get married
Ruin their lives
Ruin your lives too
Yeah in this new warzone we love being unhappy
In this new warzone we love the pain
In this warzone being alive means you're dead on the inside
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.wow, i never thought it would ever be possible,
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
  then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
           journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
    you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
   even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
   man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
    in terms of history and biology:
     history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
   well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
                  after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
   monument valley: utah...
  a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
    ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
           just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
   that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
   that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
      it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
               not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
  i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
        talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
                        so here's what i found
   (band - song):

wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
                                                mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
    smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
               unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
              jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
                   datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
   colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
                    earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
   zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
   rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
     kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
              the secret - bell of urgency,
      unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens  -
                                                out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
    ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
    lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
     wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
   goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
   earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
           tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
      burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
        slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
         shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
     sutrah - el septimo viaje...

  

who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
   imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
   to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
      you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
     sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
     to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
    drunk? getting there...
       it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
            while buying a russian
standard liter,
   asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
   but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
   so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
   rekorderlig...
   mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
    sorry... magners:
               irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
     but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
  ålska and K  ö   nigsberg
                            *œ
?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
    cider...
- what was i talking about?
  ah... the "dreaded" past...
     the people who say:
  but you can't live out a life,
   holding onto a private past,
a memory...
    so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
                i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
   and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
         one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
    and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
           to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
          i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
        of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
    however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
  is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
      there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
    "dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
    given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
   working from dasein...
            hierjetzt -
      or in english?             presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
  that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
   the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
   that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
  and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
     but with my privacy?
    you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
    and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
           i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
     two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
   glass of warm milk,
  an egg yolk,
     and a good scratch of butter...
  (on the rare occasion,
  milk infused with garlic)

mixed together...
before bedtime...
  if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
     well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
        in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
       no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
   the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...

  and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...

oh i get the youtube creators:
   living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
        annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
  i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...

men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
   ah ha ha!
             what's the ratio?
   last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
   mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
                    seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
                    when Islam was quiet radical...

well... i cook, i clean...
                what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
              rent, in london?
extortion...
                   housing shortage...
                 well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
               or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...

   i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
      no... not really...
          i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
               honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
               get the picture?
                 paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
   maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
         books and music...
                     mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
  neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
           aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!

i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...

two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
    clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
   what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
          oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
       even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
   sign-language: na migi...
               i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...

i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...

that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
             a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
                 old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
        what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
          you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!

integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:

y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!

there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
       as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
   wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?

   so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...

it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
           jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
      clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
              but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
                 casimir III...
                        jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
                           kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
  gott mit, uns!

              mit eine leben wert leben:
    erinnerung ist die nur kino
             wert sehen eine film beim;

hell... could be worse:
   i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.
Nigdaw Apr 2023
in the end
every warzone looks the same
eyeless broken buildings
personal possessions strewn
across rubble scattered streets
the odd house
against all odds still standing
the sudden shock of a body
the husk of a life
where is the victory
where is the glory
why do men have to break so much
just to say they won
Emma Sep 2013
There's a war inside my heart,
I can't seem to depart
a dying soldier right from the start

these missles are going off, blowing me apart

The ruins of hurt and anger clouding my sight

running for my life, which way is right,
darkness or light,
give in or fight?

can I survive this destruction
or
should
I
hide away and save my self?

I am not ready.



but in the end I am the soldier

and you are the battle

and I am simply a forgotten casualty
in your
warzone
Gabrielle Ayoub Aug 2014
Story about a place, story about a stone
Story about a child, wandering all alone

He is an orphan, like most of his friends
The ones that are still alive, I suppose


A tearful mother looking for her daughter
In the dusty roads where millions died

She wondered: will they ever end this slaughter?
And then sighed

Because she already knows the answer:
There is no hope to survive


Story about a place, story about a stone
Oh wait, this is not a story

Because we know it's true
Because we faced this outrage too

But we're still here aren't we?
And so will you be, probably


Just keep your hopes up
**For it will soon be just a painful memory
Pray for Gaza.
raingirlpoet Dec 2016
my mind is a warzone
words flying from catapults and trebuchetes, landing in an explosion of a thought on the other side of the battlefield
drummer boys of hope get barreled down in waves of anxiety
there are so many casualties
f bombs get dropped and shrapnel goes flying, lodging itself into crevices and burrowing deeper into the ground of my mind
no surgeon will be able to extract it this time
i hear their cries
my cries
bleeding from a hole blasted in my brain
sound travels fast here
on the battleground
i've forfeited
-
-z.z
Andrew Rueter May 2020
I found my call of duty
inside your warzone
after leaving my pressurized cabin
and dropping in randomly
I started collecting money and items as fast as I could
to match the competition’s capability.

Everyone’s an enemy, everyone is hostile
I fear them and the weapons they’ll use on me
barraging me with dragon’s breath shotgun blasts
to put me down quickly
or silently sniping from far away
so I can’t defend myself.

The only way I can survive is staying in your circle
which keeps moving away from me
so I sprint through the fields and forests
making my way through already looted homes
hoping no one takes advantage of my vulnerability
racing to your circle before I suffocate.

Once I finally get to your circle I realize it’s too small to hide in
because everyone is so close together
I must engage them before they attack me
but they all lay siege to the small shack I’m trapped in
lobbing grenades and firing at me
I can’t even poke my head out.

So I stay inside
donning my gas mask
letting the circle overtake them and pick them off one by one
as I wait inside anxiously worried someone may try to join me
but eventually they’re all gone and I’m the only one left
and in that moment I have achieved victory royale.
Keep dodging the shots,
With your nimble comebacks,
Keep ducking and weaving,
Around the truth.
Keep staring ahead,
Never looking at the carnage,
You left behind.

Keep avoiding my eyes,
With your simple disguise,
Keep hiding yourself,
In your smile,
Keep falling back,
On that which you know,
Never changing.

Keep forcing my hand,
To deal a new hand,
Keep fixing the deck,
That I own,
Keep dodging the shots,
I keep firing at you,
Because I want you to win this war.
Robby Jul 2020
I laid the body wounded from war,
marking the pain of bleeding scar,
they drip no blood but crying word,
scream of whys is all can be heard.

This warrior fought without a gun,
the sword was laid on the ground.
Flew in the war without a shield,
embracing the fires of the field.

The warzone is silent and cold,
daylight is starting to fold,
omitted gore has no trace,
but agony and pain mantled the face.

Alone, the warrior stood with yielding feet,
the armored belligerent took their seat.
They watched this warrior drown with tears,
their laughter bit the bleeding ears.

The archenemies took off their casque,
these are faces of the warrior's past.
Hopelessly he fell on his knee,
looking at the grinning enemies.

Armored with the sharpest sword,
strengthen by their greatest lord.
They rumbled drums with deafening sound,
plotting the line of the warrior's bound.

The warrior faced the strongest foes,
murmur of vicious wind starts to blow.
No armor can block the slashing assaults,
as these are words comes like a lighting bolt.

Words stabs deeper than a pointed knife,
blotching doubt in warrior's life.
Painted the warzone with unwanted shade,
every glimpse of light starts to fade.

The warrior with no hope to win,
carried darkness with tattered skin.
You can't win against yourself,
they will reveal voices left in the shelf.

The warrior dwelled in the cold and dark cell,
fall of the tears in every hit of the bell.
Tired of the biting lullabies marching like a band.
The white flag was raised with trembling hand.
Kellen K Jan 2015
Bed
my prison and
my paradise.
my warzone and
my refuge
the receiver of many tears
the place where I am without fears,
the cause of pain,
and the cure
so *****,
yet so pure.
the place i go when I’m full of dread,
is the place i go to rest my head.
Got Guanxi Dec 2015
heart weighs heavy like a rifle.
scope vision obscured
shades of humanity,
blurred peripheral targets
in the near distance.
loud foreign frantic phrases,
similar tones back home,
borderlines, checkpoints to pass
to get back to your own.
Long way to go.
bullets, bombs explode.
shrapnel brings us back to task.
in a flash,
bangs - commonplace,
comrades mates,
a fine line,
between me and the enemy.
Take me back to the catacombs,
Crushed skulls, broken dreams.
Declared conflict, conscripted kids.
Join the battle with me.
Are you ready to die?
Mish Jul 2011
guns vs. bombs,
they both throw away reality
almost like Friday morning garbage day -
they both ignite capillary, distant/instant
                                                                    reactions

& it's all just tragedies..
& it's all just statistics..
Jasmine Flower Oct 2014
September 1st, 2001.
I woke up to that same annoying alarm clock, 7:03 AM
Morning shower, morning coffee, morning breakfast –
I changed the calendar but I dropped the tack to hold it up.

September 2nd.
I’m thinking about October,
All the trees ablaze with orange and red, pumpkin pie in the season, cinnamon tingling in the air.
The new Spirit Halloween store opened up around the block. Superhero costumes are pretty cool.

September 3rd.
My mom takes me out to dinner because it’s Monday.

September 4th.
Routine

September 5th.
Routine

September 6th
In calculus, 11 is my favorite number.

September 7th.
Routine

September 8th.
Routine

September 9th.
My routine staccato.
Taxis responds after 3 calls,
My favorite professor gave me a hard time,
I wanna go home.
After the hustle of ants we call people,
loud street venders,
that creepy guy on the street corner,
NO, I do not want to try your new raspberry cheesecake Jack In The Box, I just wanna get my **** food and go home.
I arrive and melt into my sofa, falling asleep to the news.

September 10th.
No alarm clocks.
In the evening, my mom and I go out to dinner because today is Monday.
Red Lobster has the BEST seafood and while we’re eating,
she complains about the air conditioning in her new work place.
She works for some business in the twin towers.

September 11th, 2001
Instead of the alarm, sirens wake me.
I find the tack to hold up my calendar. – It’s Tuesday.
My feet, cold and lifeless, wander around the house until they trip over the scent of smoke.
Those sirens must’ve stopped nearby.
My mom is at work.
I want to get some air,
so I grab the keys off my splintered champagne desk,
****** them into ignition,
fingers wrapping around cruise control,
shifting into reverse,
the monotone GPS lady telling me to turn left.

The smoke is denser.
I follow her voice: turn right.
The smoke is solid.
Keep straight.
The smoke is suffocating.
In 3 hundred feet, turn left
The smoke is the sky –
Charlie Chapman gray.

My mom was at work.
Around me were firetrucks sparking with blinding flashes that screamed the word “emergency.”
My mom was at work.
The sight ahead was morbid. Unnerving. Disastrous.
It was like Halloween, except there were no superhero costumes, only firefighters and policemen.
My mom was at work.
The tower had holes punctured into their glass windows,
Smoke rising like leaves stemming out of the stump of skyscraper.
My mom was at work.
People like ants, fleeing, scattering, put on the mask of apocalyptic expression.
The throaty yells of “it was a plane” stuffed my eardrums
It was a plane, they said, it was a plane.
This was not routine.
My mom was at work.
The alarm woke me up.
I had my morning coffee.
It took all the synapses in my brain to deny what was right in front of me.
My senses detected telephone signals exploding with,
"I’m fine honey, don’t worry,”
Airlines confused and cramming.

I parked my car in overwhelming paralysis.
Above me, a screech of a whistle filled what was left of the air,
Followed by a boom that replicated my heart.
Frozen. Milliseconds frozen.
The plane was flying too low
WHAT HAPPENED?
There were people in those towers,
Everything was an epiphany --
Marriages, birthdays, fathers, sons, mothers, daughters,
Now cadaverous bodies antigravitating in rubble of boring office walls, family pictures.
Death in one swift move of terror.

My mom was at work.
We went to dinner yesterday.
My mom was at work.
The seafood tasted amazing.
My mom was at work.
She complained about the air conditioning.
My mom was at work.
She got a new job in the twin towers.
The twin towers are ablaze
The twin towers are spilling orange and red
They are sending ashes tingling through the air
This was not the October I asked for.
I longed for September 1st
I dropped the tack to hold up my calendar.

It’s Wednesday.
September 12th, 2001.
I did not sleep.
The news kept me awake, kept saying terrorist attack, terrorist attack, identified bodies, many mourning.
Because of their god, they lessened faith in mine.
This was the closest the public eye were to see a warzone-
Text messages cluttered with sympathy.
My routine changed for the rest of my life.

10 years later
Alarm clocks ringing, 7:03AM I stay in bed.
It’s Monday. I do not go out to dinner.
Instead, I drive 5 miles out to the cemetery.
People are still ants, pushing and shoving to where they need to go, they walk as if they had forgotten.
I no longer crave the red and orange of fall, cinnamon is foreign to my senses.
I hate the number 11 because it’s etched on your gravestone.
Your gravestone – gray and dense like the smoke
I wish they were not a constant reminder of the future I live in, but you don’t.
Today, there are no exclaiming yells of people or screeching whistles of planes.
Today there is only silence.

There is only silence.
Lauren Fehr May 2013
it's empty in the valley of your heart {the cave - mumford & sons}
breathing in snowflakes {the a team - ed sheeran}
standing in the dark {standing in the dark - lawson}
on the corner of first and amistad {you found me - the fray}
fading out the light softly saying {shuffle - bombay bicycle club}
life's too short to even care at all {cough syrup - young the giant}
i miss our little talks {little talks - of monsters and men}
now i'm driving round on the boulevard {swim good - frank ocean}
chasing after gold mines crossing the fire lines {between the raindrops - lifehouse}
trying to erase the memory of your face {warzone - the wanted}
but on a wednesday in a cafe i watched it begin again {begin again - taylor swift}
there's nowhere we can hide {demons - imagine dragons}
i'll build you shelter out of the rain {shelter - hedley}
and i will try to fix you {fix you - coldplay}
as long as you love me {as long as you love me - justin bieber}
even if you said i was wrong {perfect - hedley}
one minute i held the key next the walls were closed on me {viva la vida - coldplay}
london calls me a stranger {the city - ed sheeran}
but my shadow days are over {shadow days - john mayer}
nothing's fine i'm torn {torn - natalie imbruglia}
you're no good for me but i want you {diet mountain dew - lana del rey}
you make me feel like i'm intoxicated {intoxicated - the cab}
off last night's whiskey and coke {cold coffee - ed sheeeran}
is there something to believe in {makes me wonder - maroon 5}
i'm lost in the heat of it all {lost - frank ocean}
say what you need to say {say - john mayer}
i'm just waiting for the moment to arrive {gold rush - edd sheeran}
like ships in the night passing me by {ships in the night - mat kearney}
mirror on the wall here we are again {mirror - lil wayne}
but i'm not afraid {not afraid - eminem}
in your eyes i have seen all the feeling and the rain {venice - the lighthouse and the whaler}
you ran away in your sleep {paradise - coldplay}
but i won't give up on us {i won't give up - jason mraz}
like the colors in autumn so bright {red - taylor swift}
i loved you first {loved you first - one direction}
the lingering question kept me up {enchanted - taylor swift}
will your mouth read this truth {little bird - ed sheeran}
i've been loving you for quite some time {stay stay stay - taylor swift}
there's things you need to hear {the heart of life - john mayer}
you don't know how lovely you are {the scientist - coldplay}
i'm in love with you and all your little things {little things - one direction}
i belong with you  {** hey - the lumineers}
you belong with me {you belong with me - taylor swift}
i'm lucky i'm in love with my best friend {lucky - jason mraz feat. colbie caillat}
i wrote this yesterday
it's a plethora of lyrics from songs off my ipod
Alan S Bailey Apr 2015
I will never be **** again,
At least never seen,
You know it's kind of funny,
That's my personal dream.

LUCKY ME

But I'm all alone, society kills,
All I do is wait and watch,
The grassy green, the blackened hills,
The warzone and it's total loss.

But I'll just "shower in my clothes,"
Or move out when I have no support,
I'll be a misery and no one knows,
Cares about why I'm so forlorn.

Time passes, set my nudist free,
So I'll no longer have to live
In this banged up pos society.
Is this the day I run out of
Good bad luck?
Keeping out of harm,
But driving myself close,
Is not healthy.
I know.
But it's the only way I know,
And all I know,
Is how to live in the blur,
In the no-man's land where life and death meet,
Not quite sure which side I'm on,
But always on the edge,
And always yearning to cross one way or,
The other.
eve victoria Oct 2015
they told us it would be a holiday
get to see the world
get out of this town where nothing good ever happens
and do some good for ourselves
our country

so we went
hardly literate
without the capacity to even begin to conceive what the machines were
we thought they were toys
they told us nothing

so now we stand in this red finger paint
unsure whether we caused it or not
and our loved ones are so far away
but i'm coming home, mother, i'm coming
i'll get away.
The world is a war zone
I'm trying to survive it
In this world I am alone
Carrying only a shield
Trying to protect myself
I may dodge a bullet or two
Though the bullet that killed me
Was the one that was shot by you
I thought we both had it all
No secrets in between
I thought that you were my ally
You turned out to be my enemy
The war zone that is never ending
Has taught me never to trust
Anyone except yourself
Cause in the war we are fighting
There is always betrayal circling
Circling around waiting to strike
When it has the opportunity
Bjarke Aug 2017
Two sides that are supposed to be together.
Fighting against a force of pure unbridled frustration and chaos.
Two inseparable sides cut in half by the monotonous buzzing of this horrid swarm of insects.
Home was on the other side of the country but they brought their enemy with them.
Home felt like D-Day storming an unfamiliar beach with familiar people.
Watching them fall away into the reality that this world hates us.
It's all noise and bombshells.
****** fire picking off the last of what I knew and loved.
Home was here when I was where I was.
Now this is a warzone.
Noor Feb 2015
Silence was overwhelming
The tension was in the air
As if we were in a warzone
And no one wanted to be the first to give up
But for us, neither of us wanted to give up
Promises that we will never leave

The way you broke that silence
You shattered the glass everywhere
And what left your mouth were not words
But a warm breeze on a cold night
That melted the ice cubes
Residing in my heart

You taught me love is not a mistake
And how love feels when you kiss my hand
The way your voice sounds
When you tell me I’m a gift sent from above
And that we are meant to be
With words that belong to a poem
Now found their way to me

When you touched me,
I felt like a flower that blossomed
Emerged between the cracks
And everything that has fell apart in me
Somehow fell back together
As if your hands were made out of glue
And my body is a puzzle piece
Nobody told me that being in love with you
Is better than all novels

I want you to send me your voice in a postcard
So I can hang it next to the flower you once gave me
I want to breathe you, I want to feel you
Because distance is overrated, beauty is overrated
But love, love is above all ratings

Everyone can see you in my eyes,
Soaked in my skin
As clear as a tattoo
Everyone can see how I am a woman in love
A woman inked with love
Inked with you

I always want to tell you
How you smell like home
Like something that got lost along the way
And I’m mostly not good
With love poems
But with you, somehow.
I always have something to say.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Theia Gwen Nov 2015
Anorexia was the most attentive
Girlfriend anyone could ask for
And I fell hard for her
I fell for for 500 calories a day,
The sense of control it gave me
Compliments from girls I'd never talked to before
Doctors so pleased that I was finally "healthy"
That feeling,
Of stepping on the scale
And realizing that I took up less space
Than when I'd stepped on the day before
The feeling of water hitting an empty stomach
The hunger pangs
That secretly thrilled me
The thrill of the lies
The ones that became ever so easy
To slip off my tongue
The thrill of a secret love affair with death
I fell for an abuser
I fell...
Literally
Bruises lined my body
From bumping into walls
Because my body was so
Malnourished I couldn't
Walk down a hallway
Fell down a rabbit hole-
Fell down into a world I couldn't escape-
Thigh gaps, thinspiration, tips and tricks to
Hide this wonderland in your head
Walking headfirst into Anorexia was like walking
Into a haunted house
It's fun and exhilarating at first
It's a game, it's harmless
And then you realize that the doors
Are barred and it dawns on you
That ringing the doorbell of death
Was not the best idea
I am a study in skinny does not make you happy
The 5 pounds you wanted to lose
Turns to 10
Turns to 20
Turns to...
I am a study in
Every inch of your body being a warzone
Of standing in front of a mirror
Seeing nothing but a piece of meat
Taking up too much space
I am a study in calculation
I am a study in lying
I am a study in not dead, but not alive
I am a study in starvation
I am a study in falling out of love
Danielle Shorr Jul 2015
Dear thickness,
Dear bold flesh I call shelter of leg,
protection for this body I call home
Dear thighs.
You are more important than you think
more crucial than you've been told
more space than I know what to do with and
more vocal than most other girls' quiet but
your prominence is nothing to hide
your existence is not an apology ready to be given,
your presence does not want to be covered
the way you suffocate yourself into a pair of jeans is
a talent unlike any other
or on hot summer days when skin comes out to
kiss itself between your graces
leaving marks as evidence
what some would call chub rub,
I call magic,
an inability to resist touching,
Thighs.
You never let clothing,
or temperature,
or weather come between you
you are passionate lover,
the proud I always strive to be
the unapologetic beauty I wish was all of me
you maintain the confidence I have to dig for to find within myself
you have so much potential built into the many layers of thick
I cannot tell you enough how important it is
Some say you save lives and
I would have to agree
but still
I know that there have been times when I have neglected you
moments where I have been blind in acknowledging your worth
It is not an easy feat to love the parts of yourself we are taught from
such an early age to hate
magazines have always said be small while
you have always aimed for big
trends tell you to grow in when
all you've ever wanted is to grow out and
expand into a galaxy built of freckles and skin,
you are human as human as gets
I have made you into a warzone on more than
one occassion and for that I am sorry
I am sorry
for more than one reason
I am sorry that this world has twisted your greatness into embarrassment
I am sorry that people have tried to make an apology out of your density
I am sorry that we live in a society that keeps telling you to shrink
I am sorry for all of the times I have wanted you to.
It has taken me years to be thankful for your holy,
you are the answer to my every prayer for health
you are living proof of survival,
Thighs.

This is my proclamation of appreciation
This is my asking forgiveness
I never meant to make you feel anything but needed
Thighs.
you were not made to be thin
you were not meant to be shy
you were built to be the loudest voice in every room
head turning, eye catching, without remorse
you are never silent
even when I am
and for that,
I love you.
inspired by button poetry prompt #1: write a love letter to the body part you hate most
think of all the children who live so far away
living in a war zone  in danger every day
waking to the sound of a battle rage
trapped there in the middle like being in a cage

never knowing if. they ever will survive.
if there will ever be. anyone alive
it is such a sin that this has to be
why cant they stop there war and let the children free.
Ginger Gray Mar 2012
my life was lifted just above me
now I have to live with what I did
live with what I see.

I have seen a battlefield as a classroom
a warzone as a desk
when nothing is as it should be
then nothing is at rest

---------------------------------------------------------------­--

In trying to cure this one wound
they have begun to open various cuts
of which are now beginning to fester and scar
I am one of those cuts.

---------------------------------------------------------------­--

I have no sense of hope,
no pure feelings
no... nothing.
I cannot feel anymore
not the sun
not the wind...
nor do I ever think I will
feel... again...


By: RAIN <3
Skylar Keith Nov 2017
I was in shock
I ran
I cried

I was better
I laughed
I sighed

I was angry
I yelled
I scoffed

It hurt so I cried and ran
Guess nothing really matters now
I cover my eyes as I cry again
I pushed her away as she wanted to hug me
I screamed at her and she looked hurt
I don't have the energy to care

I'm back in my safe haven
It's in the middle of a war zone
Wounds and tears staining the way
Until I realize mine looks worse
I can't bring myself to care
Can you?
I don't care
I feel hard today, time after time
I fell again and after today
Silence will ensue
hkr Sep 2014
if this is a warzone,
then call it a warzone.
but don't you dare call it love.
thea Oct 2013
stupid boy,
i hope you know what you're getting into
because by uttering those three simple words,
you have managed to own me 
you were able to take the guitar from my hands
and make me the one to listen 

stupid boy,
I hope you are gentle and careful
because by making me feel secure in your arms,
my world is now situated in your hands
and one wrong twitch of your fingers
may touch a crack
which will break me even more

stupid boy,
i hope you're ready to be awoken from your deep slumbers
and know how to comfort a crying girl
because you'll have to hold me,
as I shake and sob at 2 am 
from the nightmares 
caused by the monsters in my head

stupid boy,
i hope you're ready to listen
because with the way you can make me sway with your words,
poetry will be flowing out of my mouth
like a waterfall of letters 
a whirlpool of emotions in every phrase 

stupid boy,
i hope you won't have second thoughts
or just simply run away
because when you strip me of all the glamourous facades
you'll see fresh battle wounds 
the body of your beloved is a warzone scattered with bullets

stupid boy,
i hope you're not easily disgusted by grime
because the skin that you want your lips upon is filth
and the cracks on my body may be bleeding
please clean these patches of dirt 
and fill the emptiness which is my whole being

stupid boy,
i hope you know that you fell in love with a broken girl
because I'm not like those pretty ones in the movies
my skin is blood-stained and my face is tear-soaked
i have no idea on what love feels like 
and to give it back in return
so please give me time to learn

stupid boy,
i hope you're good with words
because every day i am going to ask you
"why me?"
and i need you to make me understand
explain to me in detail
why you settled for a girl like me
when you could have gone for so many others
the ones who don't need fixing 
or assurance that they are beautiful
unlike how i am

stupid boy,
i hope you know that this stupid girl loves you too
even though i'll never really understand
why you chose me
or how i can return back the same amount of love that you make me feel,
i want you to know 
that if the only reason we're together
is because we're stupid,
then we'll be idiots forever
Prakash Subba Oct 2016
Homeless child

Do you see the pain in his eyes ?
Hear the mourn in his cries ?
He is drained inside,
Hopeless and helpless

Can you feel his pain ?
His burden and hunger
And that tired body
Beaten by the unstoppable rain.

It was never his choice to be homeless
It was never his choice to be in the warzone
To lose his parents and his lovely home.

His choice was to be happy,
To build his home and his family,  
To serve the country and community

Now who cares for him ?
Do you understand his tears,
His story behind the newsletters ?
He was never a homeless child.

-Prakash
Susan Hunt Aug 2013
DESTINY IS A S0N OF A ***** 01-22-11

Destiny most certainly means death
But down here, ***** murders are allowed.
A Low profile is seen as weak, soon
slaughtered by their predators.

Truth: Oakland gangsters are serous.

They bang it for the colors,
colors of their territory
collateral damage lay dead
in the street; the rotting innocent.

This conflict, this senseless war
between three colors, blue, red and black
is why violent Oakland is now called
..... "Baby Iraq", yep you heard me: BABY IRAQ

a ****** occurs every three days
....over red, blue and black.
They say they fight over turf and colors.
I think they're the same damm thing.
Thier colors mark the poles like dogs.
The scent of the enemy is evident.

Intel from the neighborhood walls
reveals the constant dissonance
and the unwillingness to lose.

A grenade of spray paint,
criss-crossing, the others' lines
until it's time to get some respect,
Ya feel me?!?

I hear this phrase so many times
it hardly phases me anymore.
Yeah, I feel ya, dude,
now whatcha gonna do?

This one boy's eyes had me mesmerized.
As he talked softly into the distance.
He began to rock in a sad back and forth,
as his homies began to surround him

He was the wise one, the shot caller
even with  his weak form peeing in a bag
hanging from his wheel chair.

Javier was wearing black, the color from his hood
He was just a gang affiliate until color blue
( or was it red?)pulled up and shot him...
he's no longer walking, in a wheel chair instead.

He was beautiful I fell most in love
with his angelic face with an elf's chin
coffee with lot's of cream color skin
He was smooth as porcelain

He had a youthful moustache
and a memory of a war veteran
He is a gang member now,
in the middle of a warzone.

"Be Bait", "Play Chicken",
take chances, on the enemy's
turf, become victor or victim

Names of games, dangerous,
and fun provoking the violence
passed down through each generation
Some sort of genetic adrenaline.

The series of small deadly battles
leaves a smell of fresh gun powder
asphalt and blood spilled iron
three colors pouring out,
turn into the color of wine.

Hopelessness is proven out
by the swollen death count,
mounting up, the line of corpses
waiting to be thrown off gurneys
entering the morgue, then
tossed into the freezer
with the rest of them.

Baby Iraq has become
a force of its own on the street.
If they ever figured that out,
They'd be running the nation.

They are too caught up
in their fathers' hatred
History repeats, written line by line
Raw power in the clutch of stupid minds,
begins and ends with small apocalypses.

In dire situations, they eat their young,
like ******
The gobbling up of offspring is
nothing new or unsacred.

It's what they do to
postpone their own fate.

Any beneficial gain is not felt yet
but will be, in the events that
did NOT happen

They don't get it
there is no benefit.
They all just die.
Jimmy Solanki Oct 2014
Two pieced
My bones are wilting away
****** inside the wonderland
Two pieced
My two souls are drifting away
Stuck inside a corner on the edge

Up and down is immaterial
Only thing real is then and now
Two pieced
My heart has been tormented
Pieces don't recognize
The wholes of themselves

Like shattered remains of children
From a warzone dismissed
Everything is broken
Two pieced is my name
This way I still remain
Depression lurks close.
Poetry is an escape.
疲れた May 2014
the next time you say
"no one loves me",
remember how its like to have a fever
don't reach the glass of water your throat is thirsting for
close your eyes for a little bit
and see your body for what it is
it is a warzone
and it is fighting to keep you alive
because it loves you
it doesn't know what you are
who you are
what you have done
but with every cut you etch across your skin
as if you are trying to erase your mistake
it heals you as if it is
trying to tell you
you are worth it
you
are
worth it
even if you don't think you are
even if everyone else doesn't think you are

so if you are looking for unconditional love,
reach for that glass of water - clench your thirst
pull that blanket over yourself
sleep knowing that your body loves you, even if you don't love you
tomorrow,
everything will be okay
hold on a little bit.
g Aug 2013
When I get here, don't ever ask me to leave.
I'm not saying I won't ever leave just that I can make up my own mind
and I've been a long time coming
and you can pack my bags for me if that's what you want,
I was never one for folding,
for folding,
for folding creases,
for creasing folds down the middle like I was waiting to be split in two,
I am waiting for you to split me in two,
split me in two,
split me in two,
cut me in half and all you will find are mirrors.
Your face staring back at you. Jagged edges so I could feel you from the inside out,
feel you,
feel you,
finally feel you.
I've been knocking at your door,
staring through your windows every time I had your door shut in my face,
knocking on your walls,
knocking,
knocking down your walls,
cracking your safe so that you know
when the sky seems like the most solid thing around you,
that you are always a porch light.
You are a struck match, a roaring flame and I am orange, fully open,
I can always be your accident.
You are the oldest thing in the universe made new for me,
a lens,
my left hand,
my right hand,
my arms, clutching hold of my wrists
so I can feel your heartbeat in my fingers,
your pulse a busker, singing only for me when the clocks have stopped and the lights turned out
and we've been waiting at this door for too long.
And I'm just stuck at my boarding gate,
halfway across the world and you're still dragging behind
like it's all too fast
and all I can tell myself is that I would always drown in you.
I will always choke on your words so I can taste them in my mouth,
taste you in my mouth, like a warzone,
taste everything you've ever said, ever been.
I will make up my own mind. I will keep you in mind.
Keep me in your mind like a cemetery.
I'm a long time coming.
grace beadle 2013
bleh Oct 2014
"the photographer, as well as the horrors of the warzone, also captured those brief moments of humanity."


                  "air freshener naturalizes the air by eliminating unwanted odours"
the 'natural' is what is formed after alteration.
                   'humanity' is what precedes the corrosive influence of human agency.
U.S.A yes I am a resident
Peace is forever relevant
Especially in a warzone none of this is heaven sent
Too many fatherless children too many are not celibate
Waiting for the Lord not the anti-christ
Many people embrace evil anti-right
Like lets create on our own terms
Sleep together watch a baby form from a egg and *****
A sad sight in the hood
Grandma praying but her grandson selling white in the hood
I recall folks asking me what's good
That's was some years back
When I sagged my slacks
Embodied a stereotype young and black
Black man mindset no not anymore
My mind is not focused on it if its not the Lord
So I don't focus my mind on things that are evil
Evil is evil..
People are people
So if you continue to lie to me
I expect you to one day say bye to me
I do not have nothing nice to say when I don't speak
Smile when I feel like smiling ,yes I expose teeth
Idk
It’s a real thing

A world so bold so  raw
No love nor care
Nothing
A world of fear
Surroundings ***** dry
so cold
Eyes hauntingly empty
Asking why
Damaged souls
With irreversible holes
Nothing left to remember
Except this  fear

Silence and explosion
the only things to hear
No one, nobody not a child
has been spared
All there is
Are burning tears
And the smell of this fear

Those are the people
from   the war
Totally forgotten
by this world
Left behind
With nothing more
then  this killing fear

Shell ✨🐚
People, children of war zones know nothing then war. How do we expect that they will be able to love? What will happen with them?
Auss Apr 2014
If I die in a warzone
Box me up and send me home
Put my medals on my chest
Tell my mom I did my best
Tell my dad not to bow
There'll be no tension with me now
Tell my brother to study perfectly
The keys to my bike his permanently
Tell my sis not to be upset
Her brother will not rise from this sunset
Tell my love not to cry
I'm a soldier born to die
I found this online.  It is not my own work but I don't know the creator

— The End —