Tu eris Non occides,




Thou shalt not Kill

They told me at school

To love they Neighbour

Seemed to be the rule

Then I became a soldier

Rules seemed to change

They gave me a rifle

I practiced on the range

We killed wooden images

Of Russian soldiers

The recoil of the rifle

Bruising the shoulders

Then one day it was War

Padre blessed us on the ship

We sang “Onward Christian Soldiers “

Prayed we wouldn’t get hit

So we were the good guys?

They were the bad?

We were given the green light

To kill was not so bad?

We won our War and went home

Handed back our weapons

Went home and hugged our families

Trying to ignore our nightmare demons

Back to, Thou shalt not kill

I suppose will be the rule

Until you’re Country says

Pick up that gun you fool.



© Tony McNally

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Lullaby Of Death

Lullaby of Death

By Liz Peterson-Braveheart


You have no right

To bear your silent wish of death

Upon my brethren’s door,

You have no right.


You have no right

To cast your world of hate

Before my child’s eyes,

You have no right.


The wickedness you offer

On the table isn’t just,

And as you rant of guts and glory,

Your heart is cold,

A breach of trust,

You have no right.


To scowl, or render judgment

On such lies and fabrications,

And then gloat,

While bathed in rapture

Once more,

Hungry for ovation!

Then slay again!

You have no right.


To mothers and fathers,

Daughters, sons,

…and innocent babes,

Your desperate gnawing helps

To seal their lips

But not their might,

The beastly seed in you ignites,

And they lay naked on your platter

You call justice

As you feast with sheer delight?

You have no right.


Love and freedom suffocate,

In our ears the sound of silence

Is their last hurrah,

As you claim the spiteful anthem,

Your self righteous Lullaby of Death.


© 2010

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When Death Feeds

Light and Dark

After the thunder

Comes the rain

After a blow

Comes the pain

After it’s done

Comes the shame

You shouldn’t have done it

Brother Cain


Did you not know

That death is hungry

Did you not know

It always needs

Did you not know

It’s never full

Didn’t you know

It eats him who feeds


Cursed are you

For killing your brother

Start life anew

Far from another

Marked is your forehead

So you’ll never forget

Your feet feel like lead

Death feeds on you yet


Why does the sky cry

When I’m crying

Why does the wind howl

As I’m dying

Why do the animals whimper

As I bleed

Why is it so cold

When death feeds?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The story of Cain, the first murderer, who killed his brother Abel out of jealosy. This is written as Cain's point of view from his death-bed many hundreds of years later.  Enjoy

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My ode to Newtown

current affairs

Guns don’t kill people, people do
I’m no liar, speak the truth
Think about the statement I make
Think a gun can fire it’self
Your more than half baked

No doubt families are grieving
About Newtown, some seething
That someone decided to fire
On innocent young victims
A whole community in death’s mire

Big love heading from me
And every other lightworker definitely
Big changes coming well soon
Then peace and love will be a boon
Not soon enough for Newtown
And a school full of frowns

And as much as I don’t like guns
Bit gutted that I don’t own one
When everyone wakes up to robbing
Taking place under their noses
There indeed will be more sobbing

The truth is nobody die’s anyway
Just ascends to spirituality
Just cos their physical body is gone
Had their spirits commended to god
Just like Jesus on the cross

No doubt it’s a tragedy
When young lives get taken early
And experts about conspiracy
Would have you think
Newtown’s designed to get
The weapons off people early

Just when a house is armed up
To the hilt, killers are in luck
My brother in laws got guns
But they are in a cabinet
Under lock and key
Newtown would have better luck

But even Master Jesus in
The Glostic book of Thomas; doubting
Says you got to fight for
What is truly yours
Else it will be taken definitely
Currently in progress: Daylight robbery

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So I Write...because I cannot Kill

I cannot cry in public so I write,

when I cry alone I pour my soul out,

then I am unstable so I write....

I write my HATE,

scribble about LOVE,

so I write to MEDITATE,

to release my DEMONS,

enjoy my VICTORIES...

So I write because words last forever,

even when people die,

I can still hear them in my dreams,

the words they spoke to me....

So I write to be heard, but for what??

ONLY to be heard!!

Good enough of a reason for me...

So I write,

so you can read and maybe find interest!

It is okay if you do not,

I will continue to write...






Author's Notes/Comments: 

If I killed!?

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   I was never good with words,

By fear to enraged my paternal,

The seed that put me in to this world,

Would turned me black and blue,

Ten years seating on the kitchen table

With a pen and a paper,

The child kept drawing skies

Fills with Technicolor stars.


Silence was my prayer,

Salvation to protect my mother.

Ten years spend alone,

Little prince you were,

And you knew then,

There was no place for you,

So for the first ten years of your life,

You kept silence and listen instead…


Shaking in your bed to the same lullaby,

The motherly shout hidden under the sheets,

Sweet sixteen, your crime was to love him,

And I never forget, the blood,

Your frail body between me and him,

You told me his punch felt like kisses,

Instead of witnessing them pelting on me like rain,

Upon your blood and flesh,

I know you have died for me,

And so often, you nearly did,

The child has not forget,

The horror movies live,

Ten years of martyrdom and traumas,


And one winter night, we knew,

In some ironic way,

I had kept silence as usual,

But insanity had left him,

The one I forgive him long ago.


I was asked to stand up,

Expecting a weapon pointed upon my skull,

He came with a bottle of water,

And pulled it on top of my head, laughing...

The movie was ending,

And we could see the end was soon coming…



we waited for him to work his night shift,

And as soon as he was gone,

Mummy call her parents to pick me up,

She was put into a hostel for beaten woman,

The judge put me to the care of my grand-parents,

Looking back probably the best years of my life,

Well, the best year of my life,

We got given a flat,

And I move back to the bellied who had carried me!


No money, one bed to share, and I confess,

All the things he did to me, when she was working,

Someday I regret, the child making it worse ,

But the physical side of the trauma were there,

Wetting my bed till I was 11, stammering when anxiety truck,

Happiness did not last long, he found us…

While he was not my mother between me and him,

He was a flat door who kept us safe, nights and days,

You could never know, suddenly the door would shook by his banging’s.


With the same tremor as a little kid,

To the point, I was so disturbed,

I would begged my mother not to pass near it,

The youngster was seeing a man with a gun, ready to shoot,

Through the wooden door,

I would wail like a torture animal,

He had gone even worth, disintegration,

No-one was anymore there to live the abuse.


He was sinking fast to oblivion and disease,

Still, he manage to trick my mum,

Christmas time, begged her to let him in,

She is a good soul my mum and so she did,

Only minutes passed, he was on top of her,

Banging her head on the marble floor.


The demon in his hands, pulled almost all her hairs,

He scalped her and my screams did not stop him,

So I took the kitchen knife at 12 years old,

Mother was dying what choice did I have?

I don’t want to remember,

I don’t want to know what happens,

The knife drop on the blooded floor,


I run inside the building, like a banshee

Trying to open any doors and one did eventually,

Between tears and hysteria,

The man understood and run down,

To late, dad was gone and had took my dog.


The only present he ever gave me, when I was five,

Mother was lying, blood pouring from her head,

I wonder how many kid saw their mum scalped,

I think this was when I lost my sanity,

Someone mention a dog had been run over,

All, I know, I was felt on the floor of despair,

Tunnel vision, my life suck into it,

My body checking and banging all over,

It took many arms to stop the epileptic madness,

Who had took control of my corpse?



Mum was took in emergency to pharmacy and doctors,

I shall never forget the scarf on top of her hair,

Exactly one year she had to weared it

She was not even thirty.


I could carry on, fifteen years old went to work,

Seventeen years old got rape,

My first love committed suicide at twenty two,

Starving, three pumping stomach by the age of seventy,

My first time in a coma,

Running to England,

Prostitution under age,

And so many more to tell….


This has took everything inside me,

I am empty, falling into the void of what was some call life,

This is not even poetry and how pathetic,

I was hoping to write something beautiful,

Like butterfly wings in spring,

And all I seems to remember,

Is going to school with broken shoes,

And having to were plastic bag under my socks,

Maybe one day I am be able to finish this essay,

Till then, I am going to gulped as many pills as I can,

And drink as much alcohol as I can, to knock my self good,

I really thought I had pass the pain,

How wrong could I have been!!!




Author's Notes/Comments: 

i try everything, drugs, prostitution, beatings, suicide but there is even who can never leave u head, thank god I FORGIVE IT ALL, I DID NOT SAY I FORGOT BUT I FORGIVE...

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   There was a time, I believe in it,

Or though I did!

Pains is selfish and when I first try,

I never spare a though for the ones,

I would left behind,

But still, I would even to these days,

Argue that mental anguish can be so strong,

It can make the most strong,

Blind to the rest of the world,


As One, I watched those who choose the final exit,

Some was friends, family one my first love.

The ones who have gave me the strength to live,

Was often the ones who choose to cut short,

Their talents, I wonder if the weight of creativity,

Is no gift but a burden, too heavy for the genius?

Everywhere I look up too those who have planted the seed,

Of my passion, seems to have perished from it.


These days, I drifted from one light to night,

Because like all things in life,

No-one can pass judgement upon one despair,

Everything’s in life is a choice,

Call them cowards, weak or whatever pleases your ears,

It is their choice and no humans have the right to be their judge!

Too many have kept secret the agony, to protect their love ones,

Who has the right to ask one to live for others?

I was under the impression; this life was given to me,

Not to breathe to please the crowd,

And if I disappointed you, it was not to hurt you,

But to cease the anguish, who was eating me…


But then again, when In May, I woke up in intensive care,

I was blessed not to remember anything’s,

Days and nights in the coma and no light at the end of the tunnel.

They say, I don’t have any souvenirs for Almost 1 week before,

Because peoples who hang themselves, starve their brain from oxygen,

I guess it was not the right time, 3 minutes and it would have been all over.

But after days in a coma, I open my eyes and saw the faces of my loves ones.

Their was no tears, it was too late for that, or too lucky for it,

All I know, I try to look up to the light,

Despise I still don’t know, where I stand!

In the shadow or the morning rise?





This poem is in no way for you to choose what I did, as I say, we are all in charge of our destiny, find the light.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

hopefully 1 learned from his mistake!

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