Bomber

Why do you kill hurt and maim, it’s not done in my name, making children die and families cry, so you can be a martyr up in the sky? Yet you are fake, you need a shake, there is no excuse to cause a wake. No motive, no greed, just false belief that makes lives so brief, you can’t justify and live a lie, why should innocents die?

Children sing and dance and have a good time, but you sir are no martyr, you just commit crime, you murder young people then kill yourself, a coward, a cheat a killer by stealth. It’s all about your beliefs and yourself, you are not worthy of death, you are like bad breath, floating away after the main play, not stopping to see the pain.

You are not insane, they have washed your brain to make you think its ok to cause death and pain, for the many people you have slain. So many times, we see this act and here the excuses how lame. But on your family, on your country and on you, you have brought only shame.

Little Boy Soldier

Little boy soldier what have they told ya? Kalashnikov on your shoulder, ten or eleven not much older. Did they tell you that you might die and stop you from having a cry and did they tell you the truth about why? It won’t hurt you won’t die and if you do you will be a martyr up in the sky, carrying a gun makes you bolder even though you might not get older.

Why must you die living a lie, no chance to give peace a try. No emotion, no regret, just hardened beliefs kept. Little boy soldier, this gun is no toy it will only kill and destroy men or little boys, it doesn’t care which at the flick of a switch. Running with the boys playing big boys games little boy soldiers a country’s shame

Little boy soldier huge weight on your shoulders, does your mum approve, what have they told her? Where will you go when they come for you? Can you kill them before they get you? Little boy soldier lay down your guns until you are older and can take the burden on your shoulders. Go home to mum while she can still hold ya. Tell her you don’t want to be a little boy soldier marching around with a gun on your shoulder. Never again do you want to see men die, without a tear coming to your eye. Little boy soldier please please cry and ask this cruel world why?

 

I Wonder

I wonder what it feels like to put my arms around you when I’m feeling blue, tucked up under the covers just me and you. I wonder what it would be like to hold your hand as we walk barefoot across the sand. I long to stare in to your eyes and hear contented sighs. I wonder what it would be like to feel your bare skin, to laugh and joke while drinking whiskey or gin. I long to see the sunlight glinting in your hair, and imagine what you feel like when I am not there.

I wonder if you dream as well and if you would really care, I long to see your inner side and your artistic flare. I yearn to see the moon light flicker off your dress, to ask you on a date and hope that you say yes.

I wonder if I feature in your dreams at night, I never thought I ever would but now I think I might. And do you see my name and wonder if we would be right, is it just a pipe dream in the cold harsh reality of light. Would you return my phone call and send messages of love, written with your fair hand in a silky glove?

I guess what I’m asking is would you feel love, could we be together like two snow-white doves, when the dark days come around would our love still be sound. I often sit and wonder what it would be like to go out for a day, sunbathing in a field nibbling on some hay. Finally, I wonder if you would even look up when I say I want to sip from your cup.

Election

election-voting-vector-734450

No MPs just candidates peddling their lies and messages of hate, now the election has a date when we all go to rate. Will they buy bombs, or give money to moms? Will they look after the old or just leave them out in the cold.

They all say their words but some are absurd, when they win they pretend we never heard. Promises made and then reneged, social class becomes a farce, when politicians get paid so vast. The gap is massive but we stay passive and let them rule the roost.

War on the world and war on the poor while they keep money sitting off shore. Money is their driving force not people of course, they would sooner you walk than have a car of course.

Low tax and no tax hacks, yet they charge us more to fund their wars. who is paying for this pain? the usual people they are all the same, they want to make you feel ashamed. what about people who moved to Spain, what have they got to gain? will they move home again as their money takes a drain.

Apache

apacheA big wind fills the sky dropping out of the storms eye, dust cloud to shroud, ready to deploy its lethal crowd. Down goes the ramp to start the decamp, thirty men fresh out of camp. Out they go to and froe; left and right into the night covering the arcs in case of a fire fight.

Heads down and up goes the storm, big wind lifts to the skies, clouds of dust, sting the eyes. Night goggles down its green all around, now they can see the role of the ground. Up on their feet, they start to move out, talking in sign, no need to shout.

Then comes the crack of enemy fire, a large explosion from a trip wire. Everyone’s down returning fire, movement up ahead, five hundred men wanting to fill them with led. Grenades and rockets crash to the ground bullets are seen whizzing around. The enemy is to big they have brought to few men for this gig. The order is given to give ground, back they start running, boots and hearts pound.

Every man running into the night trying to avoid capture they know their plight. Into ditches left and right, zero sights for the impending fire fight. The radio operator gets on the wire asking headquarters to send some hell fire. One by one the bodies fall then comes the deadliest sound of all. Click, click the ammunition is spent and in the enemy hardly a dent. More and more the enemies might, hammers at the men on the run in the night.

Up goes the order to stand and fight they know this would be their last night. Fix bayonets prepare to charge eyes wide open the battle is large. Next comes the order to engage the enemy, 30 angry men with fire in their belly, charge. One by one they are cut down, the last man falls as he reaches the crown of the hill, to the noise of the apache ready to kill.

The apache strafes with all its might, hellfire missiles light up the night, Hundreds of soldiers run with fright but no one is safe from Satan’s might. It comes in for another pass sweeping the grass left to right. Then the ground becomes still, off goes the apache back over the hill, back to base with news of their kill. Graves are dug and bodies tagged and put in the ground small wooden crosses lay all around this killing ground.

 

 

Subclass 

Media tells us you sit around all day on your ass lambasted cos you are a subclass. No real value no real worth why were you put on this earth. You don’t work you are seen as a jerk no right to live to be, to survive seen as a skive why are you alive. 

You did not choose to be in that chair, fate put you there, people stop and stare glad they are not there. Why should they care they have not been there. They think they know the pain, think it’s all a game and you are lame. Society would sooner embrace fame while for the subclass nothing will change. Seen as not normal you must change cos you don’t fit our stereotype cos we listened to all the hype. 

No one gives you a  chance for your life to enhance and  let you be the best you can,but please remember you are more than an empty can, you are a fellow man. So while they sit in their ivory tower, trying to exsert their power. They should think about how they would manage if they had sustained this physical and mental damage.

You are tough and never complain when it’s rough even when your body has had enough. Yet you get up every day, no prospect of any pay, medicines swallowed all day just to keep the pain at bay. It’s all just another day, you wish it wasn’t this way but it will never go away. So don’t judge or  throw people  away as you could be them one day.