Time is of the essence so I'll make tis quick I hope it gets in cause your skulls are quite thick
I was sleeping last night and I dreamt of the death and I saw it was me who was taking his last breath My country invaded they raided my home They beat up my dad and then left me alone
Tired and scared as I stared out the door To the blood in the streets and insane greets of war Don't want to leave my home but the food has all rot And the park where I played just a burnt out black lot
So I venture outside to see what's been done with the ash in the sky I can't see the sun As I walk down the street in this town where I've grown Most the houses burnt down and the windows all blown
I hear some strange voices and hide in the trees I pray to myself and hope God hears my pleas The soldiers were looking and pointing their guns So when I saw my chance I started to run
I guess I made noise as I started to flee Cause some soldier unloaded his bullets in me He started to freak out when he saw what he did When he stopped and he realized I'm only a kid
He knelled down beside me and started to cry But what's done is what's don and so now I will die So while we're all waiving our flags high with pride Remember no matter who you are I'm that kid on the other side
poem by Michael Loeks (my youngest son) This is one of many from a collection of his poems he put together for his creative writing class.
He spent all of his teenage years and some of his early 20's in and out of Childrens Hospital. He has a very rare autoimmune disorder called dermatomyositis (diagnosed at 13) that has left him disabled. At 28 he was finally well enough to enroll in college. He attend the San Francisco Art Institute. He hopes someday to be able to support himself in graphic arts.
for all the countries in the Middle East and the US now too. A 500 word essay on "What I am willing to sacrifice and give up in order to save my children from a lifetime of war."
I just got back from visiting him. He gave me a book of poems he had put together for one of his writing classes. This was the last poem in the book. Most of all the other poems had to do with his life and pain dealing with an autoimmune disorder similar to Lupus called dermatomyositis.
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