En.Citatepedia^®.ro

War Ensemble

Propaganda death ensemble
Burial to be
Corpses rotting through the night
In blood laced misery
Scorched earth the policy
The reason for the ?singe?
The pendulum it shaves the blade
The strafing air blood raid

Infiltration push reserves
Encircle the front lines
Supreme art of strategy
Playing on the minds
Bombard till submission
Take all to their graves
Indication of triumph
The number that are dead

Sport the war

song performed by by Slayer from Seasons In The Abyss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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EverCrimson War

The bloody hearts that we consume,
EverCrimson they are,
The bloody streams, crimson with terror,
Are not very afar,

For eventually war will strike,
These haven heaven lands,
EverCrimson forming round,
Death hitting sands.

Causing terror, freedom felt,
In the depths of the sea,
Where drowning can lead to freedom,
A free death possibility.

But still as this war comes,
We shall never prepare,
For this EverCrimson War,
We never daren’t stare.

For this battle will spread blood wide,
Not only blood but lost dreams,
For those that once lived,
Now dead as it seems.

Those dreams lost forever,
Never to come back,
Losing memories of childhood,
Now at severe lack.

The child at home playing,
Wanting war to end,
Never to know the death,
That EverCrimson War can lend.

For as well as dreams and death,
Souls will be lost again,
Reaching up to heaven,
But never these lonely men.

For we caused war, maybe end it,
But we started it at first,
So Mother Nature cannot be happy,
Only send us the worst.

Crimson war is bad enough,
Than having it Ever to stay,
I tell them, ‘it isn’t a game’
The dead in sorrow lay.

Listening to my words,
Understanding what I mean,
But nobody listens otherwise,
They will never wipe sins clean.

Only keep them forever,
Staining the blood EverCrimson red,
Never to be lost,
Reminding of the ones who are dead.

Those that were killed,
The ones they killed,
Hearts, lands, acres full of blood,
EverCrimson War only brings disaster…
To those who fail,
Will flash crimson, go stale,
Rotting bodies, rotting blood,
Mixed in with the dying mud.
EverCrimson War only brings disaster…

poem by Viraj Bhanshaly
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This balde

This blade was,
Once silver but,
Is now blood red.

What have I done,
I have to hide again,
The tears have fallen,
For another night.

My arm is now covered,
In blood red stains,
I wish i could erase,
All my pain.

The blade was sarrated,
The worst type of all,
Smooth ends are dated,
Just like blades that are small.

This blade was,
Once silver but,
Is now blood red.

What have I done,
I'm falling asleep,
Again

written 19th may 2010

poem by Jess Jayne
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Red With Native Blood

Give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
We have soiled it so, with our hands,
red with native blood.
The earth was stained, when we first came,
red with native blood.
We stole their domain, with a barbaric claim:
that we were civilised and they were not,
that they were the savages and we were not,
when we ravaged the land that began to clot,
red with native blood.

Not content with genocide
we interned them in reserves.
To break their culture
and tribal ways;
in stealing children
the state was brave,
to turn their women
into household slaves,
and hope their men would die,
unmourned, in lonely graves;
a problem to us no more.

Give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
Acknowledge their just demands,
wash the stains from our hands,
give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.

poem by David SmithWhite
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An Alliance

This is the weird of a world-old folk,
That not till the last link breaks,
Not till the night is blackest,
The blood of Hengist wakes.
When the sun is black in heaven,
The moon as blood above,
And the earth is full of hatred,
This people tells its love.

In change, eclipse, and peril,
Under the whole world's scorn,
By blood and death and darkness
The Saxon peace is sworn;
That all our fruit be gathered,
And all our race take hands,
And the sea be a Saxon river
That runs through Saxon lands.

Lo! not in vain we bore him;
Behold it! not in vain,
Four centuries' dooms of torture
Choked in the throat of Spain,
Ere priest or tyrant triumph -
We know how well - we know -
Bone of that bone can whiten,
Blood of that blood can flow.

Deep grows the hate of kindred,
Its roots take hold on hell;
No peace or praise can heal it,
But a stranger heals it well.
Seas shall be red as sunsets,
And kings' bones float as foam,
And heaven be dark with vultures,
The night our son comes home.

poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love Written In Passion Blood

love is written in warm passion blood
life is written in lust stirring flow blood
union is written in rich soul merging blood
blood in all union gift birth children born

blood bled in surge birth new life
blood corrupted death end finale life
blood love warm pure pumps renewal

blood flesh pierced sword's blade
blood climatic performance act ends
blood in taste of virgin experience death

contradiction the birth of life the birth of death
music cosmic soars at moment of conception
a moment seals love passion or life rape ripped

life poem writ contains such complexity such depth
lucky are lines life focus love given in glad glee read
glad for startling insight thoughts reflections merry

poem by Terence George Craddock
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On The Slaughter

Heaven, beg mercy for me!  If there is
a God in you, a pathway through
you to this God - which I have not
discovered - then pray for me!  For my
heart is dead, no longer is there prayer
on my lips; all strength is gone, and
hope is no more.  Until when, how
much longer, until when?

You, executioner!  Here's my neck - go
to it, slaughter me!  Behead me like a
dog, yours is the almighty arm and the
axe, and the whole earth is my scaffold
- and we, we are the few! My blood is
fair game - strike the skull, and
murder's blood, the blood of nurslings
and old men, will spurt onto your
clothes and will never, never be wiped
off.

And if there is justice - let it show
itself at once!  But if justice show itself
after I have been blotted out from
beneath the skies - let its throne be
hurled down forever!  Let heaven rot
with eternal evil!  And you, the arrogant,
go in this violence of yours, live by
your bloodshed and be cleansed by it.

And cursed be the man who says:
Avenge!  No such revenge - revenge for
the blood of a little child - has yet been
devised by Satan.  Let the blood pierce
through the abyss!  Let the blood seep
down into the depths of darkness, and
eat away there, in the dark, and breach
all the rotting foundations of the earth.

poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
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The POET from the POEM

That lady -
whose eyes can see no ordinary eyes can see,
and desolate winds crying for her name
till truth and lies are all the same;
who knows how she ate the stars at night,
yet left the old moon sleeping in the sky?
Certainly she married that awful death
only not to die.
Out of her hands there came blood,
till blood covered her flesh.
And the blood had life...had sweeter life
till blood became her flesh.
How can you know the poet from the poem,
or sift the melody from its song?
Judge me, for I'll say
that lady -
is the poet and he being the blood, her poem.

poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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The Reason And The Anti-reason

Submission to God without reasoning repels me a lot,
Puppet-ism makes my blood hot,
Bleeds me into two horns,
Reasoning encourages me to ask,
Are the hands of the supreme to judge?

Atheism with profound reason,
Makes me more angry-
Reason is chocked in the clutches of anti -reason.
If expansion is the rule of reason,
Shrinking is, of course, the anti-reason.

Wisdom prefers to take a line-
A line of golden mean,
This makes me a fan of God,
A man of free thinking-full of liberty,
Having a pleasure to live in this world with high dignity.

poem by Abdul Wahab
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If You Want Blood You Got It

Its criminal, there ought to be a law
Criminal, and you know what were shootin for
Shouting at the other guy
When his back is turned
Dont know the reason why
Aint it bout time you learn
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
Wha-ooh
Its animal, livin in the human zoo
Its animal, and I know what you gotta do
Its the curse of the working man
Givin more and gettin less
Doin everything he can, cleaning up the mess
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
Ooooh (shove it)?
You want blood, you want blood
After you
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks,
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it

song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tears Of The fatherland

So, now we are destroyed; utterly; more than utterly!
The gang of shameless peoples, the maddening music of war,
The sword fat with blood, the thundering of the guns
Have consumed our sweat and toil, exhausted our reserves.
Towers are on fire, churches turned upside down;
The town hall is in ruins, the strong cut down, destroyed.
Young girls are raped; wherever we turn our gaze,
Fire, plague, and death pierce heart and spirit through.
Here, town and ramparts run with ever-fresh streams of blood.
It's three times six years now, since our mighty river's flow
Was blocked almost by corpses, just barely trickling through.
Yet, I pass over in silence something more terrible than death,
More desperate even than plague, fire and famine;
That so many were bereaved of their soul's treasure too.

poem by Andreas Gryphius
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Dead Cow Farm

An ancient saga tells us how
In the beginning the First Cow
(For nothing living yet had birth
But Elemental Cow on earth)
Began to lick cold stones and mud:
Under her warm tongue flesh and blood
Blossomed, a miracle to believe:
And so was Adam born, and Eve.
Here now is chaos once again,
Primeval mud, cold stones and rain.
Here flesh decays and blood drips red,
And the Cow’s dead, the old Cow’s dead.

poem by Robert Graves
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Blood On The Floor

Written by jeremy spencer.
Well goodbye world
Its sad but true
Got a date with the hangman
I have to leave you
I shot my darlin
Three times of more
The reason Im goin
Is blood on the floor
The nights are so lonely
The days are so long
Im in the jailhouse
Cause they say Ive done wrong
I dont say Im sorry
I just say Im sore
The reason Im goin
Is blood on the floor (blood on the floor)
Well I came home one night
She were lyin,
With her legs around
Another mans bod
She saw me, stared laughin
But she cried, when she saw my gun
Goodbye world
I guess we must part
Theyre taking my life
Cause I shot my sweetheart
I dont say Im sorry
I just say Im sore
The reason Im goin
Is blood on the floor
Oh the reason Im goin
Is blood on the floor
Oh the reason Im goin
Is the blood on the floor

song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Syrian Military Attacking Killing Civilians

Syrian military
tanks aircraft are attacking
are killing civilians
with Russian
political military...
aid civilian Arab
blood flows

blood red black rose withers

those Russians
those Russians
living before frost
ice thaw
say how can you expect...
dictators
to leave

blood red black rose withers

without sowing
killing fields
with thousands
millions of rebels
exterminated
are not model...
civilians
not citizens

blood red black rose withers

plus misfits
did not conform
to official
party policy
insanity insanity...
there can be
only party

blood red black rose withers

Russian tradition slay civilians
put in ice box grave Gulag...
have they not heard
Stalin is dead...
dictatorship is dead...
martyr minds
beyond the wire noose...

blood red black rose withers

beyond the wire noose...
are already free
blood red black rose withers

do not blame Arab
dictator
for civilian deaths
in Aleppo? ? ?
without Russian Chinese
political muscle flexing
merciless

backing blood would not flow

backing blood would not flow
in black rose freedom
blood red black rose withers

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Why is there Oil?

Why is there oil I asked one night,

and a startling answer came into sight.

It’s Mother’s Earth’s blood, that is what oil is,

It’s Sacred and my blood to share.

Be wise in your pumping

Man is not to do wrong with this blood,

For it’s not to be shed so humans end up dead

for here is what she seriously said:

“You are pumping the blood right out of ME,

Which makes ME very Sad,

The spilling has greatly affected

My Land

and my Ocean,

Which has caused a commontion
.
There is a better way,

Let Your

CONSCIOUS take the LEAD…

…Please take heed.'

THE END

Copyright 2010 Christina Sunrise

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The Song Of The Pacifist

What do they matter, our headlong hates, when we take the toll of our Dead?
Think ye our glory and gain will pay for the torrent of blood we have shed?
By the cheers of our Victory will the heart of the mother be comforted?

If by the Victory all we mean is a broken and brooding foe;
Is the pomp and power of a glitt'ring hour, and a truce for an age or so:
By the clay-cold hand on the broken blade we have smitten a bootless blow!

If by the Triumph we only prove that the sword we sheathe is bright;
That justice and truth and love endure; that freedom's throned on the height;
That the feebler folks shall be unafraid; that Might shall never be Right;

If this be all: by the blood-drenched plains, by the havoc of fire and fear,
By the rending roar of the War of Wars, by the Dead so doubly dear. . . .
Then our Victory is a vast defeat, and it mocks us as we cheer.

Victory! there can be but one, hallowed in every land:
When by the graves of our common dead we who were foemen stand;
And in the hush of our common grief hand is tendered to hand.

Triumph! Yes, when out of the dust in the splendour of their release
The spirits of those who fell go forth and they hallow our hearts to peace,
And, brothers in pain, with world-wide voice, we clamour that War shall cease.

Glory! Ay, when from blackest loss shall be born most radiant gain;
When over the gory fields shall rise a star that never shall wane:
Then, and then only, our Dead shall know that they have not fall'n in vain.

When our children's children shall talk of War as a madness that may not be;
When we thank our God for our grief to-day, and blazon from sea to sea
In the name of the Dead the banner of Peace . . . that will be Victory.

poem by Robert William Service
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It Is Crazy

i kiss your lips as though they are all mine
and you kiss mine as though i am yours

our tongues search for the perfect union
our teeth grind themselves on the thought

that this is all sin, but then the kiss is too sweet
like syrup and we keep on kissing, till our gums bleed

and we taste blood inside our throats but then blood
tastes sweet and bitter like wine and we keep on drinking

for we think we are still as young as the night and we
never have in our minds death and regrets.

we burst. we explode like we were so full. we rested.
we go deep into sleep. we grapple for a new beginning.

love is the reason for this all. and we dream this love we have
is beyond sin, beyond waking, beyond all of us. beyond this

frailness of our humanity. this is divine and we still think of this
as a glimpse of God and heaven.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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America.... Revolution, Or The Fall!

America, America,
your pale skinned death testifies!
the cross of your democracy laid down,
the blood on your hands names your guilt.
your bodies laid in soldiers' graves,
strewn across your planted fields.
while wild fires rage,
and your tenements boil,
as your children march to death.
the poverty of indifference,
strikes the bell that cannot ring.
while the wealthy drink the blood
of your disembodied men.
and your hallowed god turns his face,
disgusted by what he's seen.
blood sacrifices on your borders,
blood sacrifices in your mills.
your families driven from their homes,
while your prisons turn the wheel.
and the hungry walk your streets
wearing familiar shoes.
the haunting cry of liberty,
rattles against your walls.
while justice is bought and sold
in your sacred halls!
and the colors of eguality,
bleed into your angry streets.
your schools struck numb
by propaganda's thumb,
your daughters sold like meat.
America, America,
revolution, or the fall!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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On Halloween

On Halloween the sky was scarred
With full moon stuck, a piercing shard,
Within a hole, the eye of night,
Above the smell of death and fright,
Along a bone laced boulevard.

The corpses, dragged from crypts unbarred,
The flames, they gazed, with pale regard,
At roasting rot, a blood soaked sight...
On Halloween.

The bones, they blanched within the yard,
Again to have their evening marred,
By ghouls and fiends who rip and bite
With claws and fangs which drip delight
While gorging flesh, so slightly charred...
On Halloween.

poem by Terry O'Leary
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Too Bad About That Virgin Sacrifice

The kid in the corner looked at the priest
And fingered his pale red chest scar
A Christian or Muslim
The six wives and their husband
The Buddhist, Hindu and Jew
Add them to the queue
God wants borders
God wants light
God wants peace
God wants war
What God wants God gets God help us all

The Cardinal at the altar
Took the blade from its hook
The mother goddess in the corner
Read the ritual in the book
The hooded encircle the aura of fear
Reporting the truth can never come near
God wants blood
God wants sweat
God wants incense
God wants chain stores
What God wants God gets God help us all

God wants submission
God wants sex
God wants freedom
God wants bounced cheques
God wants coke
God wants crack
God wants tea parties
God wants Nasdaq
God wants Google
God wants shrines
God wants law
God wants organised crime
God wants crusade
God wants jihad
God wants Yin
God wants Yang
What God wants God gets God help us all

poem by Mason Maestro
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Two Fusiliers

And have we done with War at last?
Well, we’ve been lucky devils both,
And there’s no need of pledge or oath
To bind our lovely friendship fast,
By firmer stuff
Close bound enough.

By wire and wood and stake we’re bound,
By Fricourt and by Festubert,
By whipping rain, by the sun’s glare,
By all the misery and loud sound,
By a Spring day,
By Picard clay.

Show me the two so closely bound
As we, by the red bond of blood,
By friendship, blossoming from mud,
By Death: we faced him, and we found
Beauty in Death,
In dead men breath.

poem by Robert Graves
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