I have a couple of poems here. One because I still have goosebumps from the Rocking Horse Winner show Saturday and the other because I'm angry, very angry.

*lalalalampshade*

you don't know how it feels to feel the embrace of a thousand winds int he autumn ambience of a park where we played when we were kids
you don't know what i whisper to the sparrows as i approach before they fly away like a flock like a wall
you won't ever close yr eyes and just feel yr stomach as you imagine all the good times that are long gone now
and the way those magical feelings seem to fade away as you grow older
i can draw eyes and a nose and a mouth on you and turn you on and off but you still won't know how it feels...
to feel...
to feel human to feel alive
you can't write a love letter or experience a first kiss
you won't know what it's like to hold yr breath waiting for something good to happen when it never does
i can turn you on and off and even into a puppet, multimedia, metaphysical, extravaganza, anything i want
but you won't understand the way it feels to miss somebody
you won't understand

I Am The Protagonist In My Own Story
I only need you as a supporting role
I live by my own book of rules... authored by no one, ISBN: 0-0000000-0-0
There are no categories, no good news, no truth
There is only my story and the setting, characters, plot
Nothing means anything
and YOU! you vulture smiling silently and glowing as if everything's fine
you demon of the subconscious
you who bringeth light and taketh away
you are why i spent so many nights awake until the am hours

but i guess it's not all yr fault
you can't even feel
and i pity you for that

*bombs in the sand*

A child named Shafir is carried into the emergency room
Tears and blood drip from his face
He is 6 years old
A mine or a bomb
It doesn't matter
It was something left by "us": the protagonists of progress, America yesterday, Russia long ago
Gift wrapped to look pretty so children will pick it up

Why isn't HIS face on the six o' clock news?
All I see is those hideous towers that don't even have any meaning
3000 in NYC
7000 in Afghanistan
I don't see it
I close my eyes and try to imagine the face of justice but all I see is that boy in the hospital bed screaming, "Allah, Allah" as peroxide is poured over what's left of his hands

Get yr flag away from me
It's getting hard to see
Stop waving yr flag in my face
I'm getting tired of blindness
I'm getting tired of Bush
Sometimes I wish he'd just go away

Bombs are meant to kill
But freedom must be protected
Ask the child in the hospital whose father was killed by a "surgical strike" if he feels liberated