Forgotten Youth

The expression is stern
As cross hairs float to the next spirit of God
A man of war
Finger clasped around the trigger
But in his mind
His chapped hands are smooth
Coiled around feminine face
Warm with life
But on steel
Burning stove tops
Metallic pools
Galvanizing the machine
Pushing the trigger
Like clock ticks
Deliberately
Consistently
Each second
He watches men fall
Like his children at the swing’s apex
Youthful face is cloudy, swollen
And tears race like rain
But these orphans
Torn like warped boards
Enclosing the crate
Of Pandora’s box
They aren’t puffy eyed
Aren’t lifted to their feet
By overly concerned mothers
They lie motionless
In the reddening mud

Forget the Kids (Trigger Warning)

*Trigger warning as this material deals intimately with school shootings. It is not as a means of disrespect or belittling. School shootings are horrid and far too frequent.

Dressed in a green camouflage and dark boots he stepped into puddles like mortar shells being fired into the ocean. An unjustified, misdirected rifle is slung over his shoulder. The rain stings and is unforgiving against the flat of his neck. It stings his eyes in the contrast of the sunrise. He reaches his post, whistling “We don’t need no education” and unperturbedly silences the screams of an angry flame at the end of mistaken power. He sees the reflection of a god with his mighty trident when he stares at the mirror. He will be remembered, this is his legend. Children scream, teachers hiding students in gymnasiums, closets, corners are murdered for their loyalty. Afterwards the memorials are meticulous and frequent; an event to bring people together; people entirely unrelated, people from hundreds of miles away. If it wasn’t for the grim, sordid looks on the faces of the mothers and fathers you’d think it was a celebration or a grand festivity. In time they dwindle. In time the families of the deceased aren’t asked to meet with the righteous TV show hosts pretending to sympathize. In time even their closest relatives avoid them in a fear that they may remind or reinstate the pain the soldier had given. The fame from their misfortune follows a long downward spiral and all that remains is the legend of the mighty, dreadful soldier trudging through the red mud.

The End after the end after it’s finished.

When the bombs have been locked away
And the sky is Salvador Dali
And we’re catching a breath of fresh air
From the air pockets
In the ashtray.

Soon it will be Disney’s portrayal
Of storming the beaches of Normandy
For the grade school wants blood
And the soldiers on the front line
Fear public education

They got used to smuggling drugs across the border
Before they packed the children with military
Grade machine guns
And eating utensil plastic explosives

Scattered remains of the land of the free
Doused in gasoline
Makes an explosive
That will kill
Like whimpering disease

Pot holed war zone
And the nature preserves
Have turned to plastic potted ferns
In overcrowded shopping centers

Paradoxical

Below is a writing exercise about oxymorons in language. I ended up noting more oxymorons in society and public education than anything.

Braking flatulence.
The player, lonely in a crowd of women.
The oxymoron of Public Education
Empower the public, with a healthy dosage of brain washing.
Help them improve society, just make sure there is no independent thought.
The teacher teaches, so the students are tricked into thinking that they’ve learned.
It’s illegal to mesh state and church, and yet we pledge our allegiance to God single day.
They want to avoid teen pregnancy, so they preach abstinence, hoping that we’ll know the off beaten trail with closed eyes.

They speak of opportunities, and bettering yourself,
but the children marked as unworthy are training by cleaning up our lunches.
Nothing induces self worth like public education.
Trying to advance society,
relieve the world of its ignorance
by teaching the point of view of the plantation owners History.

They try to produce different results, by sticking to the centuries old system.
Painfully honest seems to be something in itself.
Or maybe the truth will set you free. Both seem to be oxymorons.
He spends hours memorizing the facts that will be forgotten by the end of next week.
He wants to learn how to write, so he goes to the lectures.

Going to biology, and removing the reasons
the evidence is relative to the world around you.

I’ve lost the point to this exercise