This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO


(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

We are happy that we got rid of Saddam but we will never be happy to give away our country in return.
Sorry if our flesh harmed your knives... is that what they want us to say. Is this what they came for?
The failure of this invasion is a victory for FREEDOM and a defeat for radicals in U.S. and later in Iraq.

Order the troops to leave Mr. President. afraid for the safety and the future of this place... leave 20 thousands of your soldiers on both Iranian and Syrian borders and let us take over our own country. THIS COUNTRY WILL BE FREE... whether you take your troops out now or by the efforts of the good people of Iraq and America. Sooner or later they will leave, and Al Qaeda will be defeated by the efforts of the good sons of Iraq... by the way, the state dept. must coordinate with the immigration guys to issue the Iraqi politicians visas and residency in U.S. (off course many of them have US passports as you know so those dont need these arrangements).
Read the whole post.)

After reading this post I responded thus…
Hope you and your group are safe and sound as I write this.
There is no greater heartache I would imagine than to watch all this unfold in your
own homeland. The death alone is staggering. To watch as your culture is torn away
for oil; for hegemony. You can disregard those that say you are foolish to want the
US to leave for it is the only way your country will heal. The delusions of Bush and
his supporters will soon find themselves hungry with regret and filled with sorrow.
Your post has stirred my muse and she is stringing words together for my next post.
I will spread your message far and wide. It is perhaps the most worthy message for
it weeps for true freedom and with the knowledge that only those experiencing such a boiling heartache could possibly understand.


The following poem was inspired from my visit to Inside Iraq.


Grown teeth and groomed black box
Lighted by the sun’s last step
Moving with a whales majesty
Through the wary sea of red streets.
The royal land now grown slack
To the weight of screeching blasts
Through all the black occupied days
Where shrapnel and glass trump flowers
In all the gardens of home; as your heart
Wants you spirited and questioning this lifting
Of your children, of your people in the dry
Wash of stale munitions; the national pride
Of youth rearing up in bloody rebellion
Against those that would call them sons and daughters.
Alone you can snap it off, pierce the bloody boil
Growing in the teeth and black boxes covered with soil.
This last step is pointed at the fuming flames
And asking, imploring of them to leave.

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

I highly recommend that you visit Inside Iraq

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