Remembrance Day Poem

All the Poor Soldiers

Hopes Shattered, lives destroyed.
Ashes scattered after bombs.

Remember the suffering, the soldiers, the pain.
Remember the bombing, the ashes, the rain.
Will we not remember, on this one little day?
Of the soldiers that fought, while their families did pray.
The soldiers fought so we could be free.
The soldiers fought for a peace that truly could not be.
Eyes met those of enemies.
Here they needed bravery.
Dedication in a heart,
when with a family, he did part.
Sacrifice of sister, brother.
Missing one that was a mother.
Loyalty is in one’s soul,
when he feeds a loved one from his own bowl.
So now poppies grow among the graveyards of the dead.
Come pay respect to whom lay in heaven’s bed.
So do not laugh, but do not sorrow.
They fought and now we have, yet, one more tomorrow.

Unconscious Blur

I recite my words to earth and sky
because I cannot fathom why
another would heed to hear me speak
these foul words and breath so deep
and dark and cold like mystery
unsolvable and undersea
a deep diver that never breathes
a lamplight fish that doesn’t see
that leads its prey unto its jaws
I will not grab you with my claws
that take the form of old complaints
of rants that fall without restraint
pour out from lips all chapped and grey
the skeletal remains from one black day
in which you witnessed flames lick clouds
now settled ‘round this city plowed
the dark brown spotted snow makes way
in the slippery streets for cars to stray
and slide around into poles as sky
comes crashing down I will not be the one
to sound alarm – no chicken little bitch to cry
the sky is falling the sky will fall
I hope this city gets buried, and with it all
the hopeless romantics, the addicts, the good
the bad, the ugly, the rich and poor – alike they should
see the end the same
the great, the able, and the lame
pretend to die together here
while really all alone in fear
to be individual has its price
as some will see though they seem nice
it all ends the same
as the brainwashed whole becomes insane.

Clarity

My spirit is broken
I cannot weep
So long it has been
since I’ve had a thought
worth keeping.

The rain pours outside
a pathetic attempt
at pathetic fallacy
which could never be represented
by a thought but chill.

These fucking idiots
walking around with their heads
right up each other’s asses
doing what they’re told
and what the fucking system
preaches.

We need classical music
more than ever
to block out the
talking-tos
and the
trouble-makers
and the
trouble-breakers.

It’s about closing,
structure, imposition,
colonization and cages.
It’s about breaking but
not buckling
under the pressure.
The weight of the world
rests solely on you.

No one asks you
how you feel.
You don’t have a fucking
choice.
Freedom is a sweet illusion
in the cold clarity
of awareness.