Nothing new

An old sore, abuse. Abuse breeds abuse. We have listened to and talked about it over and over again. But what good it has done. It is a never ending cycle. Abuse is a living, breathing, reproducing being. Yes, it has horns and an ever fire blowing nose. It’s sad. Sad. Whoever possesses power of

Poetry|The bloody globe

I just want peace was my litany So deprived of this word my ears I feel blood seeping from my eyes Rather than tears And I taste the taste of copper My tongue wary of food it touches That rivers have flown of this blood On this very earth               What do I tell of my