To those casualties who die in the end
From lesions, broken wills, to death’s invite
The color of death is red on a friend –
The cover of darkness is hidden light.
To those casualties who survive that bend
The strength in weakness is the strongest fight.
But death, my friend, mixes our blend
For length of breath is not measured by height. Leon
Pick your battered self up and lick your wounds
Let the bereaved find tears to ease their grieve
Let the burden of bearing corpse be grave’s
May means of living find solace in flames
Let our broken souls pour out fractured words
Let’s trade blames if it will undo the guilt.
Flame of many tongues burns on many fronts
And lo, its scares, by far, outlive its burns. Tee2emm
They lift their bloody fists to the heavens
Challenging the mute gods for redemption
Born to make sport for the owners of earth
The poor that will always be amongst us
They are fed to the war for appeasement
Their rags are used by priests for atonement
They pray death bestows its dark gift on them
For earth holds no relief no redemption
I am the human whose womb has eaten
from Sarai’s seeds to beget barren tears.
I have no one to bury this dead corpse,
I am leaving here, and living like them.
I am the human who’s free but still tied.
Tears are sham here to those who read the plot
as if I exist like Richard Curry.
I am leafing here, I am one of them. – Ruddapoet
Hope in sacks of greed subtly cocooned,
An investment stolen yet handed out
Freewill yet swindled with the arm twisted;
The pain of loss seen as the pain of gain.
The casualties set out to sow their seeds
In the earth, the collector of all kinds.
Harvest was promised with abundant rain
But the earth was gluttonous, they knew not.