shot dead- see fear
they'll hear-hush now
killers are near
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Whispers of a Muse
Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star
Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries
A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
As he slept in tranquil dream,
Suddenly he flew, it seemed.
Thrown and landing on the floor,
Shaking walls and splintered doors.
Just as quick, the room grew still.
Distant tremors he could feel.
Out the door, and up the rock,
There he stood in sleepy shock.
How could oceans disappear.
Then a hissing he could hear
And a trembling, heavy roar
Headed for an empty shore.
Sunrise turned a greenish hue,
As he climbed, a better view.
Seeming far too large, he saw
What must be a water wall.
Thought of ancient stories told
Of a wrath that could unfold;
Sucking oceans with a breath,
Spewing endless waves of death.
Instinct quickly cleared his mind.
Panic now, he clawed and climbed.
Up, despite the screams he hears,
As a village disappears.
Once an evil came to call,
Scooped them up and took them all.
Now he's old, his stories wane,
Of the morning Satan came.
When Hell Froze Over
Trees shed their leaves,
the worms dig in deeper
Mothers cry and grieve
woman is the best weeper
Cold blasting each night,
birds froze on the ground
Sad hell was the fight
no hope was ever found
Winter ate their souls,
the keepers of evil hearts
Soldiers fought epic goals
the dead filled the carts
War or cold killed more,
dead is dead, hope gone
Wasted prayers to implore
heroes frozen all alone
Trail, path frozen dead,
winter sent home too soon
asleep but not in a bed
never to sing another tune
Retreat frenchmen knew well,
as their army frozen there
Now germans found this hell
in the frozen land of the bear!
Robert J.Lindley, 09-20-2014
Hitler's armies were frozen out just as were Napoleon's in the previous century. Russian winter was an enemy that killed mercilessly.The winter of 1941-42 was one of the worst in recorded history. Daily temperatures fell to 40 degrees below zero. German soldiers had not been issued with warm winter clothing as Hitler believed that the invasion would be over by the winter. Soldiers froze to death in their sleep,
diesel froze in fuel tanks and food was in very short supply. Russian soldiers had been issued with winter clothing and did not suffer as badly as their German enemies....
His life was gentle, and the elements
so mixed in him that Nature might stand up and
bodies in unregistered cars idling softly toward oblivion
some quick to anger
some quick to profit
some quick for justice
some tigers lapping blood
some mothers still at 3AM
hands on shoulders with coos commanding
that in a tear and turned cheek there be 'integration'
parody: an orphan annie reboot
parody: 'little black sambo 'round the tiger pit he go!'
we have rioted the last of our colors
bleated them with flexed toes to the wall at the edge of the universe to reverberate starless between
we have bleated the last of our colors
with centuries gone by without tongue, sockets or lobes
we will bleed the last of our colors
some quick to die
some quick to steal
some quick to burn
some quick to
lend me your car keys
in a night of full of Alarics
I will bury you
in a night full of piccaninnies
I will melt you to butter
in a night where flames are fishhooks
Sir I need you to step back please
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
we have cried Havoc
and with purple'd prose stamped this hollowed earth
We who have lived so long
shall with our breath turned mist
I need you to
stain only under stones
that pave with slippery breath
a headline for last weeks massacre
and tomorrow's graves
I need you to
I drew a line in the sand and you crossed it
They are not breathing
Look! Look there!
I will not.
They were bank robbers and their names were Bonnie and Clyde.
They robbed banks in six states until 1934 when they both died.
In addition to robbing banks, they also robbed stores and service stations.
They killed thirteen people, they were dangerous and caused devastation.
In 1933 the dangerous duo teamed up with Clyde's Sister-In-Law and her husband, Buck.
Clyde's brother was killed four months later and Bonnie and Clyde soon ran out of luck.
The next year they were driving on a road in Louisiana and they didn't know they were in danger.
They were ambushed and killed by a posse that was lead by a Texas Ranger.
The posse fired one hundred and sixty-seven rounds and Bonnie and Clyde were hit fifty times.
They were deadly murderers and thieves but they ended up paying for their dastardly crimes.
(This is a true story about Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker who were killed on May 23, 1934.)
I have died so long ago.
The pieces of my bones were buried in Sheol.
It was so dark where I lay now.
My flesh is rotten and almost gone.
I have lived once in this world,
Where a loving family I was involved.
A dearest mom who loved me so,
Loving siblings I treasured most!
I'm a free-spirited young lady.
I love to entertain the world,
Wind hums as I hit the notes.
The nature became my hidden world.
I was once a fruit in a tree.
Until one day, a harvester picked me.
Still unripe, too young and fresh.
He stole my innocence.
Too many years past and my seed grew.
I have started bearring fruits.
But the harvester did not content,
He pulled me out from where I'd been.
He murdered me on one darkest night.
Then buried me beneath the ground.
I'm so helpless, no voice to shout!
My breath is counting one by one.
Until I surrendered the last air in my lungs.
I have died so long ago.
This girl that you used to know,
Isn't the one who writes a poem.
She had died so long ago.
She walks every night to find her home.
It's filled with pain
My mind is stained
Stained with every memory
Sometimes I think today will be my last day
This place causes me so much pain
I wish I didn't have to stay
Some days are worse than others
Dying for food
I'd do anything
To many things go through my head
Will I be able to keep down my next meal?
Will I live for tomorrow?
Is this terrifying place even real?
I feel so alone
Yet I'm surrounded by people
But this place could not be called a home
There's no life in these places
Or in these faces
Everyone looks dead
As so do I
Most of us haven't been fed
My eyes have been marked
With these dead bodies that lay upon the ground
Without a soul I still look at them
Soon I may be found
As one of them
I fell in battle, sword in hand,
Invading someone else’s land.
Then I saw her, and she reached down,
To escort me from the battleground.
I’d let her take me anywhere,
With her winged helmet and braided hair.
She had me stand ‘neath Odin’s throne,
Where each warrior must stand alone.
One-eyed Odin judged me to be
Worthy to serve in his last army….
Daily killed and resurrected--
(Not quite the afterlife expected!)
Samurais taught me to sword-fight.
I learned spear and shield from a Hoplite.
Vikings taught me the battle axe,
And the Persians taught me sneak attacks.
We die each day and then come back,
Always practicing for Ragnorak.
She brings me mead, my Valkyrie,
And sometimes at night she favors me.
Since she’s nearby, it’s just as well--
This isn’t Heaven, but not quite Hell.
We’ll fight and sing to the war drums,
Waiting the day that Ragnorak comes.
Our days are spent in miseries,
But at night we have the Valkyries.
Riposte and lunge, thrust and parry;
That’s all we do in Odin’s army.
I do not know?
I feel the world crashing around me,
my breath fading.
Pain surges through my body.
I fear my hope of life is diminishing.
All is lost I can feel the regret of every lost sole.
I long for relief but all I feel is torture.
When will it all end, when will the last hour be, how will I suffer death?
(Parents Peril * The Nightmare)
Evil sits and whispers -sweet lullabies
Chimes within my head,
I feel damnation scratching at my conscious
Of what was and is!
Water running down my toes
Rain taping at my windowpane
I fear; I’m reliving my childhood days
~~Dark April showers have a chronic look~~
Motioning me to escalate before daybreak, to face a colorless what!
The trickle of musty wind mesh under my skin
The panics initiates,
But all I conquer and collect is a gash of movement that very moment
Feelings and wants exist inside my head
Visions of slitting my wrist from end to end
My subconscious is no longer my friend
At night, praying is what got me through the dark-mares.
I held my own hand that very night
Telling myself it would be all right
EYES OPEN WIDE……………….
Walking down the narrow hall
These Chimes, these Chimes!
Grew with entanglements of crime
In my parent’s room, is where the lullabies were coming from?
Shhh!!! Hush now, I’m humming to the evil sweet chant…
Whispers of dust suddenly stop
The envelope opener, I punch in and out each neck
One by one, they look up to only see me
A demonic child’s laughter erupts
Chronic Pink escape…
Pacing myself off the bed
I did not realize at that moment of what I've done
Cries of nothing led me back into my room.
There and only there water still sits under the sheets
The emptiness in my head was a sign that finally I can go back to sleep.
Falling asleep too the quietness that spilled around me
Waking up to, the parents peril sight every night
My subconscious held no sympathy
But, my chronic pink eyes relive this everyday memory
I cannot stand this….
Once again, I begin to hear the sound of scratching violins
Where dreams of ANGELS come in Chronic Pink.
Reality is lost and I fear…
That someday…somewhere so near…
I will fall amongst the people so dear…
I fear…that I’ll just be another one…
Another one lost…
I wonder what the cost of my life is
not to get too political…
But I want to know what the cost of my life is
Is it money…is it land
I do not own any of them…I’m just a simple man
I remember…When I ran across your land…
I remember when I kissed my grandmother’s hands…
But you ripped my away from her…From my home
you ripped my away from my heart…you ripped me away from my soul
I feel helpless…I feel low…
It’s hard to play along when I know…I have no role
I have become a slave.
After all the love I gave.
When I look at my country…people I want to save
When I look around me…people I need to change
It seems like a hard thing to do…
when the range of people is way bigger than you
Freedom…oh how much I’ve heard that word
Freedom…oh how this idea has become absurd
when God gave us life…
He warned us only he can take our lives…
Oh Syria…my home
Oh Syria…my all
Oh Syria…what did they hurt you for?
Oh Syria…I’m here…I won’t let them hurt you anymore…
I am Proud to be your son…
There was a loud explosion, followed by shouts of glee
The rat-a-tat-tat of gunshot, was suddenly surrounding me
It was much to my horror that my husband bought the game
And to watch my boys playing it, nearly drove me insane.
They blew things up, they shot at them, and they loved every shot
“But it will warp their minds” I said, my husband said “It will not.”
He promised he would sit with them, but that’s cos he wanted to play
And he said he could drum into them that it is just a game that day.
I peered round the doorway, I watched him guide them through
They cheered, and laughed at gruesome bits, my husband cringed a bit too
But as they grew they learned, but I know this is not true of all
Mine are both big wimps, and even husband on seeing blood will fall.
They cannot stand needles, a paper cut makes them cry
They cannot watch the news, when there is death and destruction awry
So in all honesty I don’t agree with violence in video games at all
But I think it’s up to the parents to make the final call.
Children in days of old, shot each other with a home made stick gun
They made swords out of anything, and always fought to the death in fun.
Play has changed they are safer inside, the trouble now I think this is it
Is when they are left to their own devices and the videos are used just to baby-sit.
Who's that staring through my window walls, with eyes as old as time
the clock has not yet moved and the wind outside has died
no breath for me to find nor the strength to check the time
unless the minute hand is lying theirs a chance i may have died
I wish this all a dream but the eyes i see dont lie, they have told me with their watching that all men do really cry
yet in vain is all my wishing but perhaps this is delusion of a sedimentary man with his mind ripe for losing
Come at me then red devil, I shout within my mind yet the tension I had hoped for was delayed and rather dry
no ravishingly velvet flame encircled this such room, nor were the furniture and ottoman thrown like an old shoe
marvelous the time in which a demon throwns your home and his only one intent is to stare right through your soul
to that i bid goodnight to you, to do as you wish, regardless of the manner I am nothing more then fish. to be shot out of a barrel for a fellow such as this
If you do deem it fit that I wake another morning all i ask is that the clocks all please return to working order
John F. Kennedy
The great 35th president of US
It wasn't really a success
He tried to stop the missile bases
There were lot of angry faces
When there was about to be a war
Peace was what he asked for
Texas was the place he was shot
Later, the criminal was caught
He didn't survive the pain
His people cried like the rain
Why am I emerging from the dark
Staring at a bench in City Park.
Breathless air without a bird in song.
So I sit, unknowing, yet belong.
Sudden waves of anguish flood my mind.
Feral, vicious, senseless bursts of time.
Then a calming whisper fills my ear
And my reason now, for being here.
Minutes of my final day proceed.
Mockingbirds and peanut squirrels to feed.
Speckled sun through breezy treetops sway
And two hidden figures inch my way.
Choking arms, a weakness, loss of breath;
Forced behind a thicket to my death.
Off they bolted free without a trace.
Now I'm vengeance. Patiently I wait.
I'm aware each footstep, as they move,
But this peaceful park is where I choose.
Soon they stalk again. I know the place.
Little do they know the wrath they face.
I have fallen in deep with pride tonight
My good intention used against me
I’m beguiled by ego’s pompous might
Dismissed was true grace; now I see
When clouded judgment led me onto
The reefs below and turbulent sea
‘Take a moment... maybe turn and run!
From false pride, you must disengage
Heed your conscience or come undone
Hear my words, do not become enraged
Endless is haunting of conscience, near dead
In this I implore you, with me, engage!'
What you choose this night determines tomorrow..
Turn about my friend; turn away from sorrow'.
For Craig's "Terza Rima Sonnet Contest"
(My first attempt at this and I'm afraid it's far from perfect)
Thanks to the friends who gave me much needed help...still revising.
The arrow pierced his armour
causing an open painful wound
he had thought there would be glamour
He lay waiting feeling amour
as he saw a woman gowned
The arrow pierced his armour
His wound she did kindly cover
to her spirit he's attuned
he had thought there would be glamour
she poured into it liquor
which stung making it burn and pound
the arrow pierced his armour
It was now letting out odour
she made sure it was tightly bound
He had thought there would be glamour
At his grave a single mourner
her tears were falling without sound
the arrow pierced his armour
No glory here just some clamour
dead he lay no longer earthbound
The arrow pierced his armour
he had thought there would be glamour
sadly many young men think war glamorous
until they face the battlefield soon to
learn there is none just pain, suffering
Shock and awe
You can take away my freedom
You can take away my rights
But you will never take away
What I believe is right
You can hunt me and chase me
You can try with all your might
But you will never take away
What I believe is right
For 100 years or more
You have been knocking at my door
The tyrants and the despots
The army and the law
But there will come a day
When we'll be free
And we will live in harmony
And the world will live as one
Bush and Blair they have no cares
Now there both millionaires
They talked about shock and awe
But all we got was a horrible war
With 100.000 dead
And many many more
We will never know the final toll
But we know who ran off with the oil
The tyrants and the despots
Are they the ones to blame
Or is it Bush and Blair
Who should hang their heads in shame>
As you ended our video call,
You suited up,
Just another day in that god forsaken place,
As soon as you stepped off the plane it felt like being in an oven.
What did you expect.
The boys and you all load up into the Humvee and take off with the rest of the Caravan.
Just another day.
Just another day…
There wasn’t supposed to be an explosion.
There weren’t supposed to be screams.
There wasn’t supposed to be any blood shed.
It was supposed to be just another day.
But all of that did happen.
And you were taken away from me and Mom and Dad and our little sister,
In an instant.
You were supposed to come home.
We were supposed to celebrate your birthday together,
Our sister baked you a cake for when you came home.
But… now you can’t,
And you won’t,
Because you’re gone.
And you can’t ever come back.
But know that we love you,
Know that I love you,
Know that I loved you, My Brother.
Most Importantly know that we miss you,
every waking moment.
Because you’re gone,
And we’ll never see you again.
Did I tell you Mom and Dad still pay your phone bill?
So that we can hear your voice on your voicemail recording when we miss you.
I do not know?
Fear is what they clothe them in.
Fear of losing their life because of one mistake.
Fear of losing their life because an officer is having
a bad day.
Some say it's not racism;
"It's police brutality."
Whatever you call it, I can't
help but ask "where is humanity?"
Mothers weeping because they're losing their sons.
Teaching them to fight back with silence
but that is no weapon compared to a gun.
Six feet under, leaving families to fight for justice
over their lives.
Societies getting tired of it all-
starting riots and constructing strikes.
How many more time will history repeat itself?
Or are we still writing [his]tory , using coverups
All lives matter despite of their race.
All lives matter despite their mistakes.
In times such as these justice will demand to be served.
No matter how chaotic, crazy, or obscured.
Life is a gift, one that we should all treasure.
Because all lives matter and we need to protect them;
no matter the measure.
I never really understood people until I took apart my old school chum Rick.
Now I know exactly what makes the human heart tick.
The intricacy of the human circuitry is Gods most artful work without uncertainty.
Like a great operatic performance accompanied by a grand orchestra, all our organs sing as one and all together.
To give such life as this in a manor of theatrical grandeur, but life comes at a cost however, this is something that we can not sever, for one soul to live it must take from another.
You see hunting a human is just like hunting any animal, you always track those that are weak and incapable.
I study those that indulge greatly in life's pleasurable sins, I always proceed to take them apart starting with their limbs.
To squander such a gift is a crime against those souls no longer living.
It is a crime that should be dealt with swiftly and unforgiving.
You may find my words harsh and cruel but punishment is dealt where punishment is due.
The scholars and gossips call me a Devil worshiper or a Satanist.
But I am an admirer of God and I dream to be like him, a great creationist.
To some I'm known as the mad doctor who haunts the river Rhine, but to my acquaintances I'm known simply as Victor Frankenstein.
A legion of soldiers right by my side,
Ready for battle, we shall nor run nor hide;
Courage and honor our vows we keep,
Searching for triumph and not knowing defeat,
As the enemy approaches, we have no fear;
My sword yearns for battle, as the time's growing near,
I turn toward my men on this cold winter night,
Look upon these soldiers ready to fight,
" Tonight Men! You may sacrifice your life,
You may not go home to your children and wife,
We stand up for glory, no matter the cost,
We shall not go home with this battle lost,
We fight for our people and hold our flag high,
Showing true courage on this very night,
Our enemy shall buckle underneath our strength,
We will show them no mercy for we are not weak,
Gather your armor and follow me now,
Time that we make our country proud."
I feel the cold steel, of my, blade in my hand;
I shall conquer the enemy who tries to steal my land,
My horse rides swiftly, valiant, and true;
The time is now for what I have to do,
The sound of the cries, agony, and pain;
It's filling my ears and testing my brain,
Can not feel guilt of taking one's life,
The pain sheers my side, as I, feel the knife;
I feel my head spinning, as I, look around;
Bodies of men and their blood on the ground,
The realization begins sinking in,
What is the outcome? Who really wins?
Every man here is giving their life,
So who's really wrong or who's even right?
I fall to the ground and the darkness sets in,
Remembering my life, family, and friends;
The life of a soldier is not an easy one, you see?
We sacrifice ourselves for others to be free,
As my life leaves my body and my limbs grow cold,
I remember a story my grandfather told,
" Everyone says there is glory in dying,
The fact of the matter, maybe, we're lying;
I've seen many battles that tortured my soul,
Memories to haunt me, as I, grow old;
It's good to have courage and strength in your heart,
But that's why there's wars tearing us apart.
I don't regret my service or leading my men,
I just always wondered, when does it end?"
His words had no meaning, until, this very night;
My breathes grow shallow and there's clouds in my sight,
I may die a hero and go out in glory,
In the end, I only, remain a story;
We are all equal people with lives to live,
Why can't we find peace and put war to an end?
Sketch and Freak
Drag and Jonez
Waste life left
Scared to speak
The volatile excerpt reads “The behead-
ings that were carried out by the Isla-
mic State of Iraq and Syria, the
rage of hate is a control factor for
the power of the leader to be sup-
reme. Is this the measure of mankind?
The rigor-mortis that lay before us
is a terrorist creed dogma time clock.
None the less than government formed through doc-
trine of Qu’ran and Sunni stated to
be the divine order of all the land.
al-Baghdadi caliphate is mercen-
ary to the faith of the Middle East.
The rage of hate must be depleted now."
R oused was the first leader and destroyed.
a l-Baghdadi came on board.
G ruesome guerilla killed woman, man, and child for his caliphate.
E quality must be palpability today.
F ear that is caste by ISIS.
O ften is not considered by the people as a terrorist.
R egards are to the governess.
P opulations are nations
E volved to roam.
A spirations are not known.
C aliphate has formed.
E quity is commercial paper not shown.
Penned February 27, 2015!
This poem is a sonnet that is emphasized via an
acrostic for the desired effect on the stated form.
Was it said before? Sure.
Was it said this way? I doubt it.
Perspective is in no way obscure,
And his works are nothing without it.
His motivation’s observed in daily life,
Misery, not just some vague inspiration.
He begs for reason, some way to lessen strife;
His words reflect a resounding desperation.
There seems a need at times to clarify,
But that’s allowed in his terms only;
So many thoughts seem somewhat ‘rarefied’,
Fed his fire, but made him lonely.
No ‘underachiever’, not just another fool,
But still seeking solace by the glass;
Tempering his stagger and his drool
With just a bit of ‘kiss my ass.’
But, usually, genius ‘sots’ come to ground,
Lucid moments - on the square;
Their driving ‘bolts’ of genius, word or sound,
Only written because they dare.
Yes, you can feel the written “heart”,
But few of us can realize that sort of pain;
No isolated misery… of many lives a part,
Each begs an answer... “Who’ll stop the rain?”
Yes, he’s lived it, seen it, and told it well;
But Timing is the Master of one’s Fate.
Is the timing right? Funny…only time will tell…
Will you will be a whining sot or dare to be great?
One success can be lucky, we’ve seen that before.
One book, one song, then quietly fade away.
But six novels later, we should know the score;
He must have had something to say.
So, at the perfect time, someone heard.
Someone who was “someone” took someone under wing.
And to those with interest and empathy, they sold his words;
Saying they “are genius” and with “ugly truth” they ring.
But did he create any redeeming changes or impacts?
Yes, what singular influence did all his artful whining bring?
None... just a relentless, repetitive diatribe of sad facts.
Oh, yes…..and a little “ching ching”.
Entered in the "Idiot or Genius" contest 27 March 2014
not so genius
“Goober Peas” is southern slang for peanuts.
“Goobers” is southern slang for stupid morons
whose brains are about the size of a peanut.
By definition this means that all of the members
of Al-Qaeda, Boko Haram, Hamas, Hezbollah,
ISIS, the Muslim Brotherhood and the Taliban
are indeed certified goobers – brain dead morons.
They train their sons to grow up and become kill crazy maniacs.
They treat women and girls as second or third class citizens.
They have sex with donkeys, sheep, goats and camels.
We should stop saying that they are from the Middle East
and start saying that they are from Gooberville.
Let all sane human beings support the Jewish people of Israel
in their continuing battle against the Goobers from Gooberville.
His back meets the cold, wet grass under him,
his eyes meet the blue endless sky hovering over him.
The cigarette from his hand dies out as it meets the sopping grass below
He feels the blood escape his body that now is no longer whole.
As he stares up into the sky,
he thinks of the girl he hated to leave behind.
He thinks of his mother, her tears streaming down,
his father’s proud hand, as it strongly grazed his crown.
He thinks of the men fighting for their life,
He thinks of his enemy, ducking for his life.
He thinks of the reasons war even exists,
Maybe this isn’t the way one should even live.
The sounds of his men approaching feels distant in his ear,
the struggle to save a life is unyielding,
when the bullet cuts through the heart,
there is no weaker feeling.
Slowly the sounds of planes hushes down,
The sounds of gunfire are stifled,
The missiles whistling in the background stop
and all of nature’s sounds just suppress, as they come to a halt.
The men become blurry as his eyes start to freeze,
The body that once fought, now turned to solid ice.
For the last time in his life,
he thinks of the girl he wishes he never left behind.
He thinks of his mother, whose tears will continue to run,
the father’s proud hand, that wont ever touch his son.
In these last few seconds, he does not feel scared,
as he spent this life fighting strongly for his homeland.
This expanse of land has seen things.
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.
This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand.
It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon.
This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.