An Ironic Image – A Poem

BY ZOE WICKENS

Painting a perfect picture

Glimmering with hope

Smudges of colours

Stained into tattered khakis.

In your pockets lie

An old wooden paint brush

And a cold shiny gun

Salty sweat lingers on your brow

In a furious mood

Splattering out twisted thoughts.

A crooked smile

Tainted with horrific sights

Burned onto everything you see

Smoky fires and mud covered boots

Bloody wounds and the scent of death

Precariously captured

On a sea drenched canvas.

Snapshots of crushed memories

Dripping down your pale face

Standing in the warm sand

Red paint covering your ice cold hands.

age of burning – A Poem

BY ZOE WICKENS

our world is dying

nothing will remain

read it in the papers-

watch it on television

people are screaming on the streets until-

the silence.

give me more give me more

it’s an addiction – my addiction

I need to be seen heard touched

don’t you know, don’t you understand?

connect me up to your power circuit

my blood is sparkling electricity

don’t let the fuse blow out.

like birds sitting in trees

we tweet, always in tune

heard but never seen

words flying from our flame throwers

#rushmetotheburnunit

do you think anyone cares?

we are all lost, broken like glass

when there is no air left to breathe

this world will suffocate in the smoke.

Freedom? – A Poem

via eatmorerealfood

BY ZOE WICKENS

Do you hear the thunder

like crashes

the bombs just keep on dropping,

lights out

black out

who will be left in the morning?

She sleeps in her bed

thousands of miles away from

the horrors all over the news,

her friends are only a phone call away

but in the war zone

there is no freedom,

never mind mobile phone signals.

Everything they once knew is in

ruins. Soldiers march into

nightmares, things she could only dream of

tucked up in an English night.

What could she possibly know

of being too afraid to fall asleep,

of living in the darkness

under a cloud of smoke

peppered with gun shots?

It’s not enough

to read and watch

such destruction. She can’t stand

the inability to help.

The call to join and fight

to become that person

photographed holding a gun

with their face covered –

unimaginable to most

but what goes through their minds

flying to the nearest country,

risking it all for what they believe.

She doesn’t understand,

but knows the downfall

is found in everyone’s pockets

you can press a few buttons

and the world can read your thoughts.

Some will pray for their souls

but she will stay awake

thinking and writing

about stories

people are dying to tell.