War is Lovely
It´s a hell of a war, soldiers running between burning buildings.
It is a great war good for sex feel the strength running through veins
blood oozing out of bullet holes and onto the sand that is the other guy´s
the person called an enemy.
Was this their finest hour defending whatever they have told to defend
Wonderful war brilliantly red, and women dream of joining them
only to find they are out of place; soldiers will rather masturbate in a fox-hole.
Glorious war, something the survivors can talk about in the park playing card,
name the buddy who didn´t make it out lost in reveries and full moon.
Do they see the green leaves on trees or the flowers; is it all death and ruined buildings?
Forever etched in their crippled brains.
Oh, I´m so tired it is hurting me, endless wars and commentators explaining the murdering
of the innocent according to what the think-tank pays them.
I long for the autumnal colour in Portugal, a place to heal the abused body so distressed,
facing away from the TV, screen that drips of blood or failing that of football boots.
To walk on old cobblestones and fallen leaves and remember that we live in a beautiful world.
Should I, mere a rabbit of sand, shiny hair,
sport a shock of fur mired in clay,
they from gofer mounds, propped on to peer, would sound warning
through the sun glades and sleep grotto shades.
“A pall fellow lights whereupon we here graze.
See ye lithely to him yield path.
He in bone pastel smocks with such likeness to bare
plodeth sloughs dank, decay’s fell morass.”
“This chap’s marks are slurred, kindred ‘s smudged,” they’ll say,
“in a mud that is not of our warren.
He looks sullied by drear earthen labyrinths far ‘way,
perhaps fox hole, cat hovel, or den of wolves’ coven.”
For when foul skies do strike, marring trees with their curses,
rains fall to douse scintillate branches.
A pungency hovers where a torrid sludge cools.
Its paste casts forbidden clan hues.
Now the wolf craves not easily his like or lean.
He is wary of ghouls in his ranks.
“Gaunt swagger, I see,” he’ll think,
“This one leave be, who with me, shares the gore and the grisly.”
For in drab sheens to drape, shall the countenance daunt.
Browns besmirched will, in ashes, urge, “Yay,
it is he colored wolf.” In airs Lupus, I’ll steep,
strutting meekness purged, brave in cloak gray.
Kiss me.
Kiss my lips on in the no man's land between warring trenches.
Roll me in rhe barbed wire killing fields among the mud and the mines.
Hold me until the smoke clears.
Kiss my eyes while we are enclosed the bones of an abandoned church.
Nuzzle my neck among the whispering dead; the tombs and headstones of those who fell before we did.
Hold me until the fog clears.
Grip the swell of my hips in a fox hole full of shrapnel.
Shout my name into a sky full of searchlights.
Write your vows in the breaths between bullets.
Tell me you'll love me forever on a desserted beach full of crushed sea shells in the middle of February
let me live
don't burden me
with more than I can bear
don't coerce me
into believing things
from your reference point
I'm tired
let me live
these decisions weigh me down
the expenditure of thought
analytical thinking
that goes against the grain
of my compassionate heart
taxes me
it comes at a cost
I'm tired
let me live
my struggles with myself
are in and of themselves
hidden land mines
in the battlefield you call life
I'm maimed
walking wounded
looking for that fox hole
in someone's heart
where there's protection
from whizzing bullets of doubt
don't trouble me
with trivials
when I'm only on survival mode
let me live
when I'm of sound body and mind
come to me then
I'll have energy to spare
emotions to expend
and a clear functioning mind
then I can give ear to your grievance
and play arbiter
but not now
if you care
let me live
my life is ebbing
chronic emotional fatigue
alibied by my smile
please be kind
let me live
I only have
this one life
to
live.
let me live
Eileen Manassian
I feel my life , wasting away'
Living in a strange place , day by day
Who is to blame? I ask myself ,
If I get killed, or put on a shelf .
Who will take care? of the ones I love ,
While I look down , from up above ,
Lord, keep them safe, while I'm away ,
They are the victims, who are being played .
Life can be cruel ,life can be mean ,
When ' Soldier's die, in a War, unforeseen
Who will protect us,when they are gone,
This isn't a dream, the day isn't done .
We live in a fox hole, " over in Vietnam'
Or in " Korea"by the DMZ,
War is the same, in any language u c.
Destroying families, even " Overseas .
Make us or break us ,we are men
Even "The Wac's, will do it again ,
We're not afraid, to kill or be killed ,
While in the big house,they live on cheap thrills .
Our lives are " predetermined" that's what they say ,
Cause we as soldier's , will die every day
Remember our sacrifices, and all that's been done ,
We'll die for our country, till the war is won .
Love is greater than any conflict,
Being fought " Overseas" or in our country
Let's not forget our "Soldier's"who've died all alone,
"For their last thought before dying,
Was to be buried" back home .
The story that I am writing,
Could easily be true.
It could have happened,
To either me or to you;
In a mail room somewhere,
A letter lays unread.
On the front of the envelope,
This is what it said:
"A Letter To My Darling"
The envelope was old, and tattered with years.
On the pages, they seem to still be, wet with tears;
"In a fox hole my darling", that's how it all began,
"We were running from the enemy,
And it was more than I could stand.
"In A Letter To My Darling."
"I toss and turn, unable to rest.
I love you so much, cause to me,
You are the best;
I don't want to die, in this unforsaken land.
But, I have my faith in God,
And here is where I"ll stand."
"In A Letter To My Darling."
As the last page was folded,
They were choaking back the tears.
And each one began to wonder,
How it lasted through the years;
Then on the envelope, some words began to appear.
"Thank you", it read, For all the latters you sent me.
Signed, "A Letter To My Dear."
I'm in my fox hole cold and damp,
I'm using my matches for a lamp,
I'd give anything to be at home,
instead of this ditch here all alone,
oh the thoughts of mama going thru my mind,
with her loving arms around me, she's so kind,
I can almost smell the cooking that mama did,
with her shiny pots and fancy lids,
I hate to wake up, cause then I'll see,
I'm still in this hole for eternity.
The bravest soldier,
But never did He,
Wear camouflage,
But bore a tree
No metals of honor,
Just a spear in His side,
And nails in His hands,
As on that cross He died.
No fox hole to hide in,
Just a cat of nine tails,
No weapons to defend Himself,
Just three rusty nails.
No Purple Heart,
Just a crown of thorn,
Pressed into His brow,
While looked upon in scorn.
The bravest soldier,
Died and was buried.
For all of our sins,
On the cross was carried.
But three days later,
Came He out of the grave,
He rose from the dead,
So we could be saved.
See, this brave soldier,
Is really our King,
Now we can be saved,
Let His praises ring!
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