The Cost Will Be Great (For Dave)
riots,
city streets vomit;
angry, the earth erupts,
sick of it's sickness.
bodies flung against bodies
with a blinding rage...
the faceless demanding faces,
the nameless demanding names.
not knowing, not understanding,
peace, fullness, equality, freedom...
all begin within...
pushed in bloody blackened corners,
lashing out with survival teeth...
change will come,
but the cost will be great!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Revolution.... (Can Be Defined)
revolution can simply be defined
as the truth taking the form of bodies,
demanding both faces and names!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In The Shadows
who's invading whom?
shall we kill again in the name
of freedom?
does capitalism have its own
savior, complete with cross and grave?
in the name of security,
we take human rights...
now the truth becomes a threat.
bodies bought and sold, sacrificed to wars,
bodies without faces!
and freedom well armed and lusty,
kills justice and equality in the shadows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Where There Is....
where there is breath, there is hope.
where there is hunger, there are faces.
where there is injustice, there is need.
where there is doubt, there is truth.
where there is prayer, there is searching.
where there is understanding, there is compassion.
where there is slavery, there are bodies.
where there is hurt, there are hearts.
where there is sickness, the need for healing.
where there is prejudice, there is fear.
where there is condemnation, the need for forgiveness.
where there is a moment, there is eternity.
where there is involvement, there is change.
where there is loss, a chance for freedom.
where there is war, the deep cry for peace.
where there is darkness, there is light.
where there is truth, hope abides!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Following The Sickness
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
Fighting our own shadows, fooled by our enemies.
They are the ones you just can't see.
The unaccepted theory is rejected yet again.
But still the chorus plays.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
To whom it may concern.
A poetic letter, dressed in feathers.
Does it make it any prettier?
A distraction from the purpose.
Delivering the simplest of messages.
And still they are not heard.
Oh no they are never heard.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
And man is yet to learn.
And man is yet to learn.
Foolish know it alls.
A change in circumstances will cause a sudden fall.
A broken bone, or ego?
A laceration or a severed artery?
Is it serious or superficial?
An inflamation that just won't go down.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
And it has brought me here.
A million passersby's.
An angelic looking sky.
Prying the heavens for just one peek.
I wonder if it has what I seek.
A cure
A cure
For this world.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
If you are ever lost just follow the sickness.
Its everywhere.
Just go from there.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Cost of Freedom
Syria...
violence in the streets...
peaceful protesters
marching for human rights,
equality, and change
being slaughtered
by their own government...
now here...
shadows of Kent State...
common people
pushed to the edge
in the battle for
survival, human dignity,
and hope for a future...
already abandoned
by our own government...
will it take being
killed to get their attention?
will it take dying
to give our children
a chance?
you say it cant happen here!
open your eyes, your ears,
your hearts...
it's already begun!
what is the cost of freedom?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Blackened...
blackened steel...
blackened faces,
blackened hearts,
blackened roads...
blackened eyes,
blackened dreams,
blackened prayers,
blackened gods...
blackened memories,
blackened fingers,
blackened windows,
blackened rooms...
blackened thoughts,
blackened nails,
blackened shovels,
blackened tomb!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Walk Alone...
i am the last rebellion,
the fire you cannot control.
i am the faces of lost bodies,
names written in blood.
i am the call to battle,
armed by the heart.
i am the silence that knows,
the darkness that takes.
i am poverty's shadow,
and the language of need.
i am the anger of the beaten,
i am the field forsaken.
i am the tint of skin,
and the color of the eyes....
the song of the shovel and whip.
i am the bones of the old ones,
shaking with rage.
the tears of the grandmothers,
the dirty hands of small children.
i am the soldier imprisoned,
on the streets of despair.
i am the conscience of the murderer,
that haunts the night.
i am the bodies of lovers,
glistening with passion.
i am the child born,
neath a sky with no star.
i am the crucifix and prayer beads,
the hymn known only by trees.
i am the dog abandoned,
rain falling without remorse.
i am the monk self-immoliated,
the cry for freedom unheard.
i am human dignity,
and i walk alone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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And when we go from braking to accelerating to cornering, the G-forces we pull are really demanding on our bodies. We definitely have to be in top shape.
quote by Michael Andretti
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What price freedom?
People wandering, mingling
Along busy, crowded streets
A chorus of voices
Rises and falls
The loudest voice cries 'freedom'
A blinding, flashing light
The roaring boom of thunder
Mangled, torn bodies
Litter the blood soaked streets
The scent of death lingers
A sweet and ghastly smell
A crumbling building falls
Echoing screams of despair
What price freedom?
What price freedom?
poem by Niall O'Hagan
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I Am Sick......
i am sick of your justice...
sick of dead bodies strewn,
sick of your bursts of gunfire,
and your bombs without conscience.
sick of the napalm fingers of your equality,
trading flesh for nickels and dime.
sick of your powder and your pills,
sick of the rape of the young girl
beneath your flag!
i am sick of your nuclear bibles,
sick of your buying and trading.
i am sick of the pound of your oil rigs,
sick of the stink of your morality.
i am sick of your hanging trees,
your courtrooms stacked.
i am sick of the money you sleep with,
sick of your colorless freedom.
i am sick of your smokestacks gone silent.
sick of your riot squads gassing.
i am sick of the amendments you've twisted,
sick of your hate and your prejudice...
i am sick of your slavery,
your prisons, your human rights violations.
i am sick of your political lies....
revolution, by common bond,
the choice of integrity, or death!
the dignity of the human soul demands,
that we live or we die!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A woman's asking for equality in the church would be comparable to a black person's demanding equality in the Ku Klux Klan.
I had explained that a woman's asking for equality in the church would be comparable to a black person's demanding equality in the Ku Klux Klan.
Does Anybody Out There Even Care
The dream is lost
Don't let it slip away
Or bloody days won't be far away
'Cause when there's no more sun
There's no where you can run
Does anybody know how many lives we've lost
Can anybody ever pay the cost
What will it take for us to join in peace my friends
Does anybody out there even care
Wake up world before it's too late
It's time for love to conquer hate
And when the battle's won
We all can live as one
Does anybody know how many lives we've lost
Can anybody ever pay the cost
What will it take for us to join in peace my friends
Does anybody out there even care
Hey
Riots in the streets
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Let Love Rule
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Warriors Pledge... (Conclusion)
well, i've heard the footsteps
of hard determined walkers.
lost in the din and the noise
of angry faceless talkers
been twice betrayed by love,
in my hour of need.
i've planted my thoughts,
the earth swallowed my seed.
i've torn down the idols,
and exposed the lies.
been to the place
where the last raven flies.
put names on the bodies
strewn in the ditch.
been called a fugitive
and a son-of-a-bitch....
i saw that which i hated
in the mirror before me.
found the cost of my slavery,
and set my heart free.
i plowed the last garden,
built a house with doors open.
kept struggling and fighting,
believing and hoping.
i've listened to silence,
and learned god's voice.
found that we are defined,
by daring and choice.
i'll say this one time,
and return to the ground.
we are what we give,
the touch and the sound....
we are what we give,
the touch and the sound...
amen!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Friendliness Calm and Tact
Be open-minded in this day and age
Leave prejudice far behind you.
Efficiency depends on good understanding
New ideas ~ a change for the better.
So never rush in, however demanding!
Consider the facts of the matter.
Now the Bill will become an Act...
Another step forward, another great pact.
The outcome of 'friendliness calm and tact'.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Peace Is Vital.
Peace is vital for human survival!
If there is no peace, there will be war!
In time of war
Guns and bombs fill the air with dread
And crowd the streets with bodies of the maimed and dead.
Because of war
The young, the old, the innocent baby
All suffer with the guilty.
When men war
Earth cannot yield
Flora and fauna shrivel and die
And national coffers quickly run dry.
Because of war
There's human blood like water flowing
Poverty, disease and the agony of dying
Surround and overwhelm the living.
The horrors of war
Should bring vividly to mind
That Peace is the goal
To be sought after
By all mankind.
poem by CHERYL winter
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Terrorism is the tactic of demanding the impossible, and demanding it at gunpoint.
quote by Christopher Hitchens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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thank you Russell Edson... great poem
The house grows sick in its dining room and begins to vomit.
Father cries, the dining room is vomiting.
No wonder, the way you eat, it's enough to make anybody sick,
says his wife.
What shall we do? What shall we do? he cries.
Call the Vomit Doctor of course.
Yes, but all he does is vomit, sighs father.
If you were a vomit doctor you'd vomit too.
But isn't there enough vomit? sighs father.
There is never enough vomit.
Do I make everybody that sick, sighs father.
No no, everybody is born sick.
Born sick? cries father.
Of course, haven't you noticed how everybody eventually
dies? she says.
Is the dining room dying...?
... The way you eat, it's enough to make anyone sick,
she screams.
So I do make everybody that sick...
Excuse me, I think I'm going to be sick, she says.
Oh where is the Vomit Doctor? At least when he vomits one
knows one has it from high authority, screamed father.
Peace on Earth
Heaven on Earth
We need it now
I'm sick of all of this
Hanging around
Sick of sorrow
I'm sick of the pain
I'm sick of hearing
Again and again
That there's gonna be
Peace on Earth
Where I grew up
There weren't many trees
Where there was we'd tear them down
And use them on our enemies
They say that what you mock
Will surely overtake you
And you become a monster
So the monster will not break you
And it's already gone too far
Who said that if you go in hard
You won't get hurt
Jesus can you take the time
To throw a drowning man a line
Peace on Earth
Tell the ones who hear no sound
Whose sons are living in the ground
Peace on Earth
No whos or whys
No one cries like a mother cries
For peace on Earth
She never got to say goodbye
To see the color in his eyes
Now he's in the dirt
Peace on Earth
They're reading names out
Over the radio
All the folks the rest of us
Won't get to know
Sean and Julia
Gareth
song performed by by U2 from All that you can't leave behind
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who And What We Are And What We Do
you are the witch of the night
and i am the wizard too
and so here we are
roaming the night with our black wings
on half bodies
we are looking for words
and metaphors
to eat
we have separated our minds
and bodies
there will be more insomniac nights
and more bloody encounters
among ourselves
some blood and flesh will fall on the ground unnoticed
tomorrow morning
some flowers with red petals grow
the passersby will smell the
odor of our lives
we are the poets and the poetesses
without our names in the books
of their collections
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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