The Soldier's Letter
In Flanders Field
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
-John McCrae
Brave
I used to believe I was brave.
That I could handle anything that came my way.
But it’s been a long time since I felt that way.
Now I feel helpless, hopeless and all alone.
Like I've been shattered by a stone.
I used to believe I was brave, but that was a long time ago.
I used to be believe I was brave...but somehow even that, got lost along the way.
-Linsey Evon Lewis
Not who you think I am.........
The picture you painted is tainted;
The vision hypocritically jaded… forcing impersonation
You create this being of who you wish I could be;
Ignoring the reality, closing yourself off to the possibility.
The words I speak, scripted by your pen;
The sound of my voice taints the image you believed in.
You mimic the way I should move;
Pull the strings and expect a dance;
Mould my body with your fingertips.
I voiced opinions, you forced oppression;
Your mangled deception, pushed me into depression;
Trapped me in your blind obsession.
Metal, wires… oil doesn’t pour from my wounds;
But the ticking comes from the clock now sewn in my chest….
The beating died long ago.
The world you’ve concocted is a figment… a lie;
Constructed from controversy, insanity… profanity;
Any emotion expressed or tear that escapes further stains my sanity.
Pain can’t exist in your gilded cage.
The expectations you set, can never be met;
The falsity of your touch will forever leave me cold;
Shrinking away from your hold.
The bonds we had created, melt away, erasing the ideals from yesterday;
Every fantasy or fairytale, now stone cold… there is no one left to mould.
-Jana Echo Lewis