a memory flashes here and there,
his family on a wall lined up and killed
like lambs no one did understand
what their blood for, was spilled,
but I doubt the boy still recollects;
Oh no! I know what I’m here for—
I saw the purpose in his small brain—
like all these soldiers who died in vain,
the boy’s mind was thinking of but one thing—
like all of us, the boy was only playing a game.
Identity is collection of poems about who we are and what we might find if we really look inside and mean to learn and face whatever we find.
Get Identity Poetry Collection today and find out if you can really find anything inside.
Frankenstein Audio Podcast [spreaker type=player resource="episode_id=18439048" width="100%" height="200px" theme="light" playlist="false" playlist-continuous="false" autoplay="false" live-autoplay="false" chapters-image="true" episode-image-position="left"...
Crazy, like God– everyone believes in me, yet everyone does not give a damn about whence I came, they all but hold a guarantee that I never leave. So sure so secure when they have me– coins in their pockets, a raging river with endless uproar a body...
So stained a heart that is of man’s— right down, the soul, cold-blooded conscience struggling for the sun to reach its intimate core, but nothing seems to run in those veins of old; no sweat or blood— all seem under control; no tears to falter now— a heart...
Sitting, daydreaming, flying to the endless boundaries of a silver screen— the world is all at hand waiting yet to be seen, and hearts are up and running— desire inside so keen to get by, day by day— the world is all at hand, yet what does that wide world...
You devour me with every look— eyes blazing in a desert glimpsing a fleeting mirage; no matter how my lips move you see them revolving, no matter where I sit my bottom’s the sun— you seek no other light; my legs are a crime so obvious to move left or right...