S.T.I.C.S-Poets – A war poem

If this bird tweets our thoughts,
then my thoughts are with those birds who no longer
tweet.
Rest in peace, for they were packed so neat, into
a dream where, they could earn respect from their hand- armor,
but now they lay beneath our feet.
Like six feet,
i use metric units so i count corpses next to each
other… I count six feet, families eaten by the beast, laying there for vultures to feast,
got too used to lying – now they just lay beneath the sheets, wrapped up by their previous deeds.
The life long hidden angels are now to be seen!
Note to self, I wish i could reverse the ‘war’ – ‘raw’ thoughts i
never really knew what i was fighting for.
Recruited due to law, but would be questioned for following
la ila ha ila Allah.
I speak truth.
Words can cause concussions as they wish to flee,
even if they have to break their jaw, like,
persians after the Sha’, like,
rasta’s wanting to meet Jah. Their words have the strength of the hair of samson,
reaching your local network off of the tune that sam-sung.
Like a blind man watching youtube – they heard clips,
grinding the cause.
The matrix was for those who took the wrong pill,
these guys were out there because they signed their
own will.
Lured into believing that a war fighting for was
based on their own will,
All is written so even this was written for all.
…A war poem,
not a poem that was written about war,
but a war poem.
Dedicated to all soldiers that died to have their ideas echoed
like in Achebe’s evil forest.
The tree fell, we heard it,
they mean well, yet they burnt it.
Fumes rise to the skull like a bad idea,
Satan whispers,
…We listen.
Dark visions of ruling with illuminati triangles for squared minded people,
making decisions over round tables, this shit is deep though.
People looking for weapons of mass destruction.
Correction, all weapons are weapons of mass destruction.
Soldiers sold their future souls while armies are accused of theft!
Generals lay back drinking JD,
they so so death,
so so democracy with no real affect,
absorbing more and more credit takers while leaving
more of them in debt.
They’re having troubles paying their mortgage bills
how can you expect them to pay their respects?
So a house is not a home,
While plants are dying like Luther vand’s rose.
Give it to your beloved while they lay next to a tombstone,
…So here lays a great man,
who fought for what he believed in,
thought it was the season and bought what he thought was the remedy to real freedom.
And here stands a great woman.
The mother to the deceased child.
The lady who would help him put on his worst shoes before he walked his first
100 miles.
Life was a question.
The pen was an answer.
Writing fought for the ones who were captured.
But crushed funny bones never had the ability to
bring anyone any laughter,
So if you want them to remember you,
make sure that you make enough noise while you’re still here.
And remember…
The poet can’t exceed.
It will never be about the digits.
There’s a fine line between hate and love.
And i had to be the one who had to cross the limits.
.
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