Can you Hear me?

I have a voice, I know I do
I've heard myself speak
I've heard myself shout
even scream. Have you?

You see me, but do you hear me?
I move my lips each time hoping
the sounds and the words would be heard,
but still you do not react.
Can you hear me?

I know my words aren't whispers,
I know they aren't quiet.
My words have meaning,
I do not say them lightly.
My words are of importance.
muffled to silence in your presence.

Is it of less value?

Are my words nothing?
Is my voice just a part of my imagination?
Is it even there?

Flanders Field: Memories

The field of death and beauty,
Grass of red
Poppies gaining its colour as our soldiers bled.

The flower of remembrance,
of our past.
A tradition to make the memories last.

We fought and we won.
But Flanders Field remains a place for our dead.

We try to honor the fighters of a 100 years past,
But much as still been left unsaid.

School Life: Outside

Rickety wooden benches with splotches of bird poop.
Big giant brown spiders crawling up the trunk of almost leafless tree,
Wet orange and red leaves scattered on green grass.

The sound of birds cawing no-stop as the dive from the roof and into the sky.

The inane chatter of teenagers as they gossip.

The long, empty football field leading into creepy looking forestry,
with its old unidentifiable trees.
The tall and imposingly modern building contrasting with all this greenery.

School Life: Library

Silence and the quiet whispering clacks of computer keys,
Rough navy blue carpeted floors and rows of wooded shelves,
Plain signs marking the genres of not so plain literature.

The heavy smell of paper as books are opened,
frustrated sighs as someone fails to understand something they're reading.
and the alluring sight of sunlight that escapes through the sides of closed blinds.

School Life: Cafe Max

Colours of green and white, long ailes and plasma screens.

93 modern looking green chairs scattered around just as modern tables.

Food everywhere; at the front counters and at the back in complicated vending machines

Friends and strangers alike sat around talking loudly and cheerfully,
loud laughter and squeals,
Dreadful music.

The scent of coffee and tea, bitter and cringe worthy,

Ballot boxes empty and pathetically strewn on the floor as a group of boys rush past them.

Silence as SU member Fiona shouts at them even as they continue on out through heavy non-automatic glass doors.

Angel

The crunch and groans of cold blanketed snow under my feet goes unheard
as I focus on nothing and everything.

Rustling of wind, the sight of ghostly air as shallow breaths are taken.

Shadows of contorted faces as I begin my ascent into the sky;
arms weak, legs shaky and unbalanced.

I can see my destination and the only way is forward,
there's no other way but down as I floated above my friends
unseen as they all huddle together like cattle waiting to be slaughtered.
Just a spec in my eyes as I continued on.

Patriot?

I’ve got blood on my hands,

Is it the blood of an innocent or a tyrant,

the choice was never mine,

to kill an innocent to be in the favor of a tyrant,

or to kill the tyrant and suffer the loss of many more innocents.

But who are the innocents,

and who is just using the facade of an innocent

to conceal their tyranny from those who wish to usurp them from their throne of power.

I’ve got blood on my hands from following orders,

but who is to blame,

is it the man who allows himself to be controlled

or is it the man who controls.

I’ve got blood on my hands,

but feel no remorse,

The battle to rid myself of such indifference has not yet been won

the stain of another person’s life that can not be removed, that can never be washed away.

I can see that I am a murderer who has been disguised as a soldier, I am nothing but a mere minion created to do the tasks of the powerful.

My hands are covered in blood,

but still I walk free,

I am free because the blood on my hands is the blood of the enemy

The blood of those deemed our adversary by the country I have devoted myself to.

I’ve got blood on my hands,

and I’ve shed no tears,

but still no-one cares,

because to them, I am good, I am a hero

and most importantly I am a patriot.