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Literature Text
A thousand people stand
With their arms held high
Waiting in the cold
Beneath a clear blue sky
For the sound of gunshots
And the trumpets to play
As they stand on the ground
Where the soldiers lay
They will cheer and clap
As the soldiers walk by
And pay tribute to stones
With the cold tears they cry
But there is no man
Standing behind the stones
And their words mean nothing
When he died alone
When the day is over
They will cease to care
For the people who fight
They are no longer aware
But life does not change
For the people who fought
And the war is not over
And never will be forgot
So remember every day
Don’t just pay tribute to stones
Beneath them are the men
Who never could go home
With their arms held high
Waiting in the cold
Beneath a clear blue sky
For the sound of gunshots
And the trumpets to play
As they stand on the ground
Where the soldiers lay
They will cheer and clap
As the soldiers walk by
And pay tribute to stones
With the cold tears they cry
But there is no man
Standing behind the stones
And their words mean nothing
When he died alone
When the day is over
They will cease to care
For the people who fight
They are no longer aware
But life does not change
For the people who fought
And the war is not over
And never will be forgot
So remember every day
Don’t just pay tribute to stones
Beneath them are the men
Who never could go home
Literature
Where good men go to die.
Unwashed bodies
bent over scorched earth
toiling as sweat draws rivers
in the dust upon their faces.
Chains rattling
clinging to skeleton wrists
feet dragging and kicking dust
choking rebellious songs in their wake.
Confusion settles
like a welcome blessing
drowning out the conscious pain
of being aware of their destiny.
Faint voices
deep in their minds
may cause a slight discomfort
reminding them of former lives lost.
Madness strikes
like a tidal wave
drowning the echoes of pasts
they do not wish to remember.
Soul pieces
shattered like jigsaw puzzles
no longer fitting the frame
like tatters of cloth upon bones.
Unwashed bodies
falls u
Literature
My assassin's suicide
私のキラーの自殺
Watashi no kirā no jisatsu
The touch of your sword's curve is sweet,
How willing, I, as it pervades.
The metal cuts through dark and sweeps
With the cold its keening invades.
Full rending with each fluent stroke,
Diaphanous silk's white tempest.
In swirling vortex palest cloak,
Floating tachi shadow's clearest.
When at last the time comes untold
Will your sword lay alongside mine,
At the last when peace should enfold,
Will you join and lay yourself there,
Or, broken, will betray us, as
Century wind lays our bones bare.
Literature
Becoming Somebody
No one thinks about the complexity
of what it takes to be a person.
It is so hard to wake from the perplexity.
Will we let our beings worsen?
What will living this life take?
In a blurred sea of endless confusion,
will we just let our bodies shake?
We hide our reality in a deep illusion.
Anger, shame, and anguish, we feel it all.
Are we losing ourselves in this storm
as we watch the darkness fall?
Or are we trying to find our true form?
Amongst the crashing waves, we are blind
until we take hold of our own connection.
A connection to this world in which we are defined.
Found, you may see, so add this trial to the collection.
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Not sure about this one. It was written rather quickly.
Anyway, I always go to the ceremonies on Remembrance Day (Veteran's Day). However, sometimes it feels like people treat it like a mere formality. They lay flowers on a memorial, then leave... and forget until the next year. I don't see how thanking a stone really helps those who fell, those who fought, or their families. Instead, just always remember what they gave, and thank them when you can. Actually feelings have more meaning then an arbitrary act. Or, do your part to help them.
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Hello, I am here from <img class="avatar" src="a.deviantart.net/avatars/w/r/w…" alt="" title="Writers--club" /> as you had requested a critique.
First, I want to say, "Bravo!" The visual you created with this was very powerful. I agree that it does seem as though everyone only comes together on specific days and on those days alone to honor those who gave up so much for the freedoms we have. SOmetimes we all really do need to be reminded that those men and women need to be remembered more often than that.
That said, as you requested a critique, I have to touch on a few things. very few, but a few nonetheless. I do understand that it was written rather quickly. My biggest thing when I critique is always punctuation... in which this piece... had none. So in reading it, to me, it is like reading one long run-on sentence. As I am not aware of what kind of punctuation you would have placed within the piece had you had more time to write it, I am not sure what more to point on as far as if some would be changed, removed, or added.
In all actuality, the punctuation is the only reason why the technique is marked lower than I would have like to give you. It is a very beautifully written peace that really impacts a reader, especially a reader who this might personally affect in one way, or another.
Thank you for sharing this piece and allowing <img class="avatar" src="a.deviantart.net/avatars/w/r/w…" alt="" title="Writers--club" /> for seeing/sharing it with others. I wish you many blessings on your path <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/a/a…" width="15" height="15" alt="" data-embed-type="emoticon" data-embed-id="349" title="Aww"/>