PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Burned bridges

I was raised in a ruined country

Driven by warlords

and sick ambitions

Youth shattered on the burned bricks

of bombed factories

Learned to hate

and doubt in everything

Trust no one

Thought to be everybody`s enemy

My toys were leftovers of

civilized world

I forgot to use words

only to point finger and yell

Burned bridges

Images of tomorrow

Cold places

Dark faces

Grim stoned cases

Flight over pieces

of empty minds

Cold hands hugging dying

General`s shadows on the walls

Sounds of jet engines

and diesel tank machines

Round bullets as value of life

Life costing but a bag of flowers

or  a can of gas

Worthless paper money

That byes nothing

Nothing but misery

Swollen wrists

Torn nails

That try to dig way out

Ghosts in the eyes of people

Lucky bastards that got

nothing to lose

Ears tuned to national tv stations

Triggers ready to strike

Shotgun on head of masses

Rotten tomatoes in courtroom

Too easy to vanish

Too hard to stay

Let all loose down the hill

Raise your hands and praise all

mighty president

Speech is censured

But still can beg

There is only one way out

Six feet under