Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(0 votes)

You must login to vote

Oh, desert storm, no second land
My son of sand, my trusting hand
The words, they hush into the sweeping fan
that keeps their tank-room cool
They roll nightly tuned, over tapioca pools
into your broken homes, two by two
picking up your red, whites and blues
Fold me up in berlap sacks
No time to think, you can't go back
The street calls you out, a wayward still
Caught up in the palms, a slipping gun, a better pill
So don't turn back, not the slightest bit
Light one up, and take your pick
this clever stick does
Happy Birthday tricks
Blow me up and take a lick
And we'll mourn those who tolled
their final 'click'..
and you'll never see the headlines
buried beneath the bricks.

- Krista Bruce.

~ Krista
"no matter where you go, there you are."

Related Items


The following comments are for "Jihad (On You.)"
by oceanaria

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.