Poetry About World War 1

i wrote these.

Wooded hills of Ypres

tainted soil surrounds me
crimson blood cries forth
a generation wasted
amid the morasses

unknown

he spoke to me
bayonet wounds in his palms
crown of barbs on his head
crucified upon a door of oak
knowing only his painful cries

I wrote this while listening to the band Returning we hear the larks.

What it means to be fully human is to strive to live by ideas and ideals.
And not to measure your life by what you've attained in terms of your desires, but those small moments of integrity.
compassion.
rationality.
because in the end, the only way that we can measure the significance of our own lives is by valuing the lives of others.

fantasies have to be unrealistic.
because the moment, the second that you get what you seek, you don't, you can't want it anymore.

in order to exist, desire must have its objects perpetually absent.

it's not the "it" that you want, it's the fantasy of "it".
We are only truly happy when daydreaming about future happiness.
That is why we say the hunt is sweeter than the kill, or be careful what you wish for.
not because you'll get it.
because you're doomed not to want it once you do.

Living by your wants will never make you happy.

Slatherian- The Ocean