Oh my god, what have we done
Just gone and killed, your only son
Even worse, tortured him to death
Jeering whilst he gasped for breath
In realisation, we’re overwhelmed
Certain now, to be all condemned
His only crime, was none at all
And we the people, made this call
We had a choice, Barabbas freed
Crucify our idol, and more indeed
Mankind is evil, we’re living proof
Sold out our saviour, stood aloof
So what now, is it time to pay
Might just be forgiven, if we pray
But who could condone, such a sin
Flaying the innocent, of their skin
Maybe was preordained sacrifice
Let’s just say, made his own choice
Stop passing on, humanities shame
We like to point, the finger of blame
Even now today, two millennia later
People are still, intolerant haters
Yes we can love, all we hold dear
It’s our conscience, that’s not so clear.
Voice of Conscience Poetry Contest
Sponsored by the Unseen Seeker
02/06/2021
The President of America should be very concerned
about the dreadful death toll that is growing under his mismanagemment
of the Pandemic
If the deaths continue at the rate that they are going
doesn't he understand that he is ruining his chance of winning the coming
election in November because
THERE WILL NOT BE ANYONE LEFT TO VOTE
Villanelle : The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 18
World in which is ingrained innate violence
Where nation-States all hell-bent on blitz wars
He who abstains from doing harm commits offence
Is branded traitor parasite perched on fence
On conscientious objector shine no stars
World in which is ingrained innate violence
Even cowards by nature obtain licence
To kill at will armed to the teeth in holy wars
He who abstains from doing harm commits offence
The non-violent sport no medals bright dense
Nor do they rape their loved ones inflicting scars
World in which is ingrained innate violence
Boosting ego is the craft of violence
Insecure feelings drive muscle-man jaws
He who abstains from doing harm commits offence
Do no harm and attain pure inner silence
Resort to arms let rage Raskolnikov indoors
World in which is ingrained innate violence
He who abstains from doing harm commits offence
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Where do dreams go if they die?
You can't put em in your pocket
You can't plant em in the sky.
And if you hide em in your heart
Then with you they'll surely die.
Where do dreams go, can they die?
When life just happens
You've fallen again and now running blind.
An unwilling combatant a greying specter
An emotional conscientious objector.
A Phoenix rising
Icarus hoping to fly
Once you dreamed so big
You almost kissed the sky.
Now all that seems like a faded picture
Faith sabotaged by doubt
A deadly elixir.
Where do dreams go when they die?
Were they actually there
Or merely a lie?
Did you dream in color or only black and white?
Were you alive when you believed?
Did you just hang on to the seed?
Or by faith let it go
Out of your control
Yet willing to still believe
That faith will let it grow.
Where did your dream go?
Is it alive
Or like a mirage in a desert
Playing a trick on your eyes?
Will you surrender to the camouflage of life?
Much like darkness tries to hide the night.
A peace treaty with deception
Void of light.
Where do dreams go when they die?
Born a hellraiser, and lived that way
For the better part of his days
Til riding back home, one stormy night
Struck by lightning, he kneels and he prays
Now he was torn, about who he was
And he didn't know what he should do
To kill, he knew, was definitly wrong
But the army kept telling him to
He goes off to war, against Hitler's troops
No fear was found in his heart
A soldier of God, a hero for his country
He waits for the fighting to start
He was ordered with nine other men
To silence the guns on the hill
One hundred and thirty-two germans were captured
With nine more, that he had to kill
Awarded the Medal of Honor
For something he didn't want to do
A conscientious objector
Just doing what they told him to
This story is true, about Alvin C York
A man from the Tennesse hills
For as long as he lived, he never talked once
About any of the men he kills
He said he never saw himself a hero
But was proud of the medals he'd won
But still a conscientious objector
He was ashamed of the things he'd done