sad children spyin'
a storm of conflict brewin' ~
mom and dad trade barbs
One's Mind is a Battlefield
One's mind is a Battlefield,
But strength transforms in the smoke,
Intellect to breathe.
Through chaos when old fears insults.
The war inside ain't quiet- is quick-witted,
It's real-
Until now resilience occurs in the places
Doubt tries to rip-off.
Shadows lure from corners,
Anxiety creeps like a thief, even so
Truth stands guard, grounding beliefs.
One derives in the midway of the mess,
Rooted and aware, turning every mental
Clash into proof of staying here.
This isn't just existing the Battle-
It's reshaping the terrain,
Building power from struggles, judgment
Calm in the tension resilience emerges
Motion, a Victory reclaimed,
A soilder of self-worth marching concluded
What once felt fierce.
The Battlefield of Vanities
In Rhymtic, where the public of pride
Beats loud in opposition to the quiet side,
Egos soar like corner Kings, Queens,
Talkin' validity with heavy swings.
Steel-tongued verses bash the air,
Lines cut deep like a group came prepared.
Shadows arch, but the valorous don't yield-
Every word a weapon, the vanity Battlefield.
In the Groove of Love
[Verse 1]
We wander through the haze of twilight glow,
Catching whispers of what we barely know,
With shadows of our dreams still to be chased,
In the rhythm of our hearts, love finds its places.
Between the beats, we lose control,
Finding solace in the depths of our soul.
[Chorus]
So come close, let the love take flight,
In this shoegaze dream, everything feels right.
We’ll weave our story in the starlit sky,
Hand in hand we will NEVER say, “goodbye..”
[Verse 2]
We dance where the waves of magic intertwine,
With every spark igniting, feeling so (F.I.N.E.), divine,
No prize to purchase, it’s the journey we seek,
In the echoes of laughter, love’s voice will speak.
Through tangled paths, our spirits light up,
We are better together, and no we don’t give a .
[Chorus]
[Outro]
In a world this vast, love’s our true guide,
Throughout the noise of existence,
We forever ride.
Tell all your friends “hi...”
I have grown from nothing—
but brutality and blood.
My roots are drenched in crimson strength—
and an even deeper red for loss.
The soldiers on this battlefield,
like me, stand tall—
fighting for something…
even if that something is nothing at all.
So much pain.
So much violence.
How many bittersweet ends have been met
on the ground I have claimed
and the ground I have kept?
Misery has carved itself deep
into this little bit of earth,
yet here I grow—
strong and unbroken,
as courageous as them all
as fierce and mighty as the first,
And like the tears their loved ones bear
once they learn their soldier has fallen…
the blood-stained grass still weeps.
May the fallen hear
the sweet call of peace.
We
Are
not
here
to compete
The Battlefield of Survival
There is nothing that brings out our fragility
to surface like surgery, dreams one has of
success is laid bare under the well-lit light
of an operating table
First time I had one of those growths removed
was seventy-five years ago by our doctor
wearing a three-piece suit with a blue tie
My memory of him is that of a man who
had a cigarette in one hand and a scalpel
on the other hand, during the proceedings
he spoke to my mother about the weather
That was inclement, and the Labor Party
He and my mother were communists
For a long time, I had to take blood tests
which I didn't mind, his waiting room was
full of magazines and newspapers
There is nothing to read in waiting rooms
anymore, apparently, it is unhygienic
Not that it mattered, one has phones
The surgeon and his assistant spoke
pleasantly to each other about their work
at hand, I just happen to be there
After the operation, I was led into a room
to rest and dress, no, there was no kind
nurse serving tea
The children came late, at the end
among the bodies, naked, stripped
the corpses starting to distend
with gaping wounds where swords had ripped
and hacked to recognitions fall.
Their foes had taken life and gold;
the wives to stricken poor to pall
these men whose lives were dearly sold.
The children came, as did the rats,
the cawing crows, the hungry dogs,
the ever-present feral cats,
and fat pink grunting, rutting hogs.
They came to scavenge what was left
upon this greenfield butcher's block
and what they took was not the theft
it is those who lead should be in dock.
This life is a fierce battlefield,
Little did I know before my birth,
My weapons should have been better honed,
So no earthly force could conquer me.
Friends I made while I was nobody,
Turned to foes when I sought to be somebody,
Those I loved with all my heart and soul
Blew pepper in my eyes when vision blurred.
Deceit comes robed in sheep's clothing,
But in its mouth lie poisonous fangs,
Mental torture is their specialty –
They wield it without a flicker of remorse.
When I wept from the pains they inflicted,
They dried my tears with clean handkerchiefs,
Their smiles conceal their bitter hearts,
Veiled in peace, their souls steeped in a vile bile.
Why were some people made just to hate?
They rejoice when they see their friends cry,
They are logs happier as stumbling blocks.
Than as bridges across a stormy river.
Had I come with my own weapons,
Their jugular would have been severed
To drain their wickedness till dry,
To purge their hearts of bitterness till empty,
And plant in their minds true love to grow.
whistles blare
gun powder in the air
lead pours overhead
I can't wait to feel my bed
I line up my rifle
breathe and squeeze
my orders are to strife
I run empty so I freeze
the quit nights are haunted
this conflict was unwanted
one more tally added; I can't mask it
make sure they spell it right on my casket
Many never come home from battle.
Most come back for war, but not all
come back without being traumatized
by the reality of death and dying.
This fact reminds us of those who are
suffering from post-traumatic syndrome.
He lived the pathos and pain of war
He’s still haunted by blood-flowing
Upon the battlefield
The sounds of gunfire and shells
Bombard his tortured mind
He was just a boy when sent to war
Came back traumatized from being
Upon the battlefield
Still hearing gunfire and shells
Target his tortured mind
He will always bear the pangs of war
Can’t forget his buddies dying
Upon the battlefield
Cut down by gunfire and shells
Left him with tortured mind
He stares at the wall. sees naught but war
And its horror amidst fighting
Upon the battlefield
And facing gunfire and shells
Inside his tortured mind
His life few will ever understand
This hero with a tortured mind
Spring Hope
Waiting for the first green shoots to join our world,
For the first signs of hope,
To arrive from winter's night,
For darkness to melt into the morning light,
To steal our gaze,
from outside
Where the bullets fly,
Across a stage,
where the blood is real,
Actors forced to play their parts
In a theater of pain,
Like party fireworks,
Flares illuminate Tree lined Fields,
As
Earths flowers,
Torn down,
one by one,
Loved ones,
on the sidelines silent,
Life Sacrificed on alters of mud,
To the whims of madness,
If I could call out in a thousand languages,
In each one, I would cry for peace.
But outside the bullets fly
And the desperate and naive chant for war,
But still, we wait for our spring,
For green shoots, for hope,
For the sanity
Of bird song,
For the promise of resurrection
From the battlefield of
Frozen mud.
John Roberts
Running towards danger
Never giving up
Never backing down
Beside me mighty warriors fall
Wounded soldiers crying out in despair
The enemy’s blood on my hands
I give a mighty roar
Faster and faster I run
Never giving up
Never backing down
Bombs bursting above me
The enemy base collapsing before me
The battle is over
The victory is won
I no longer have to run
I didn’t give up
I didn’t back down
Destruction lays all around,
And my resolve is wearing thin.
The harbinger of death taunts me,
Into a fight I cannot win.
My body's weak and foundering,
And my mind's not thinking clear.
As if a marble statue,
I'm frozen stiff with fear.
Forced onto the battlefield,
Cast amongst the tides of war.
As they throw down the gauntlet,
I feel dread down to my core.
Terror stricken as I am,
I still raise my shield and sword.
This day will test my courage,
And the fate I'm heading toward.
My blood begins to boil,
As I rush into the fray.
I won't go down without a fight,
Determined to find a way.
Through many swings of my sword,
At the countless bodies I meet.
Victory at last is mine,
All foes dead beneath my feet.
With heart still beating loudly,
And blood coursing through my veins.
Though battle weary as I am,
I'm left alone to nurse my pains.
Dropping shield and crimson sword,
Falling on my knees to pray.
So grateful for this triumph,
I'll live to fight another day.
The earth is thy battlefield and I have a calling to be a soldier,
the weapon of the spirit is accessible to face the future even bolder.
The path is constricted and yet so clear,
with God within, I shall have no fear.
Visions I have seen will now manifest and solidify,
there will be no more tears and no further need to cry.
The meaning of life is simply to serve, let the light within,
shine bright and to Him give the glory and do not swerve.
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