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Burned It’s seared I can’t unsee Every cell cries Want them all to Hard to be patient Words fail am left with Burning raw vengance Anger toppling monsters God just keep sane enough And god guide
Survivor’s guilt My world atilt Once third generation Ever again in my nation Destruction Abduction No truths, just obstruction Our lives no stability, constantly set in fluxion Down south is the horror Up north is the
Not all heroes wear olive green Though many of them do anyways They come in all shapes and all sizes Deserving of all of our praise Not all heroes carry weapons and ammo Though too many
Note from the author: What we have lived through during the last days is still incomprehensible in its scope. Each day we learn of new horrors and are fearful of which names we will hear next.
One is the loneliest number Even lonelier than zero Because the none are all together And the one, the lonely hero Can survival be survival If the one to testify Has to do it by his
Touch grass, they say.It will ground you.And I’ll listen to them because if someone knows the secret to finding normalcy I want to know it tooAnd so I sit on the grassDrink coke out of a
Raanana, Israel How do I write about something that I can’t make any sense of? How do I write when we’re right in the middle of it and there’s still so much we don’t know? I’ll
Heavy with the weight of tears And lack of sleep, I barely managed to lift my head towards the morning sky To try and follow the movement which caught my eye A muster of storks flew