Being MeBeing MeBlack facesMonotone voicesAre you happy?Are you sad?I don’t knowNo bodiesOnly blursAre you as tense as a spring?Are you as relaxed as a string?I can’t tellBut don’t be angryDon’t be meanI’m working on itI’m trying so hardSo that I can learnJust please be patientPlease be kindI know that I’m difficultI know that I’m oddI can at least figure that much outSo try to understandTry to be in my shoesSee how I have a hard timeSee how I struggleBy being me.
Angel TearsHere she stands, numb and shaken to her very core as she takes in the site before her.The land is desolate and decaying. Blood is soaked in its soil with the pungent smell of death. The sinners and the innocent, all regardless of sex or age, their bodies are litter everywhere. It is here that there is no hope or happiness. All that remains is despair and sorrow. It is, in simple terms, a horrific scene. A picture of war, a war that is being fought with the best of intentions. And yet, there are many roads of ruin that have been paved by the best of intentions.So why!? Why must this this be another one of those roads? A road that is taken often, too often. A road where there the only travelers are those who are wounded and dying, that have been attacked because such a reason as it being a time of war. Such a stupid reason. These travelers, these victims, have nothing to do with war for they are not soldiers. No, they are civilians. Men, women and children who don’t know how to f
Snow is suppose to be whiteSnow is whitepureand beautifulit is suppose to stay untouchednot corruptedand blemishedit is not suppose to becolored redlike bloodblood of the innocentthat has been spilledfrom those that were slaughteredSnow is suppose to be white not redSnow is suppose to be beautythat softly blankets the worldduring Christmas timea time that is aboutgood will to othersand joyful tidingsnot a time aboutevil deeds done to othersand mourning for those who are forever lostSnow is suppose to be white not redSnow is suppose to be white.