Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Children and mothers, fathers soon dead.
Irreparable damage, DNA spread.
Palestinian fate, dripped down the line.
Hunger now haunts stomachs too fine.

Consumed from within, by self and by fury.
Organs like snow, made into slurry.
The heart will go first, though great and defiant.
For apathy scathes - apathy likens.
The Palestinian people have been denied the most basic human rights and needs for decades. We are, all of us, bearing witness to the culmination of their suffering: the ****** of Israel's genocidal goals, both condoned and supported by Western powers.

'Never again,' has become a heinous mockery of past victims.
Destiny a winding road,
fate the culmination;
to exist beyond such conceptions,
a truer freedom none have touched.
Yes, the tower

c
r
u
s
h
i
n
g

even as it uplifts;
a prison of Miss-

"You can't do that!"

-takes absent bliss.

That I am this 'thing' of wrought soul, ferrous whole,
rendered thus by others?

It burns my blood,
that sinful dove
all dressed up in proverbs.

I want freedom's kiss,
and Mankind's bliss,
and love rendered language.

More than modes of oppression loathed,
I am human:
rancid.
I hope your God exists.
Yes, that heavenly bliss
and his choir full of angels.

He'll see you all,
and he'll grieve your fall:
the justice you've avoided.

Because your Eden is dying,
and your neighbors are sick.
Yet, you have chosen hatred.

Hoarding wealth and warmth,
saying naught of the poor,
and waving off enslavement.
America the Brave.
One-way ticket to DC.
Cigarettes. Coffee. Tylenol.
I do not intend to ruin my life doing something astronomically dumb. The thought occurs, though. Like when society is faced with cruel upheavals. Or when genocide is given a veneer of worthiness. Or when the most oppressed peoples - all of them too vulnerable by half - are fashioned into scapegoats.
Cousin of a land untouched
by seed, by root, by child, by brush.
Timber aged, filigreed by wire;
I wonder, death: does it inspire?
You: a monolith, sentinel no more;
metal your limb, lightning their pour.
The touch of sap is gone from you,
refashioned for cold and copper dew.

Mycelium grief, fire-baked sorrow;
I bid adieu, tomorrow-
-tomorrow.
I do not make it easy,
I do not make it kind.
I do not travel breezy,
nor sing of earth and rhyme.

My words are thunderborn,
hatred, war, and pain;
politics for one and all,
social grief and game.

Entertainment's worth,
the value I extract;
a tale for twenty thus,
a tale for us and that:

Memories yet traveled,
roads not trod by us;
the voice of yet born trillions,
the journey that is love.
Next page