Rags
 

There's a blue rag in the middle of the street,
covered in the flames of hate, and disrespect.

A gang war erupts in the back alleys of the city,
behind a steel mill, in the junkyard and dissipated vicinities.

Bullets fly, bodies drop, colors burned in the eyes of victims,
in the end, there is no stopping the raging machine.

This has potential. Spice it up a bit.

Ooh, I like it.

The 'raging machine' did somewhat remind me of Rage Against the... though.

I especially liked the opening line and 'colors burned in the eyes of victims'. :)

It reminded me of RATM as well. But, RATM are fucking awesome so that is a good thing.

They are playing Reading on Friday! W00T!

I do believe this may be my best yet.

I have nothing against them, it just jarred a little with the poem :)

Well, in a week, at the most, I'll have the whole thing written, and put up

i like it. i mean, i see alot of gang stuff here. alot of people get hurt. i never understood it all. i thought it was interesting you used the word 'flame' to describe a blue flag. here that would be a sign of disrespect for the blue. red flags are called flames as a put down. i would really like to see it when you're done.

I have a few friends who... well, yeah... have a couple of stories about this subject, that's where I got the insperation.

doesnt it just boggle the mind to hate a color because its that color? i dont think ill ever understand it. they all seem stupid to me, but most people do anyway.

Not really, they represent different ideals, and what went from mutual dislike, to drive bys and the likes.

i guess its just the kind of 'gangsta' that are around here. alot fo these people out here just... hate. i dont understand it.

I try not to say nothing about it, as I don't live that life.

I thought this was going to be about how horrible cramps are.

Do you have anything else to say about this poem? Just wondering.

Life is hard when your living in the red,
fighting the blues, learning that a homey is dead.
To step out onto the street, means death,
if you aren't strong, you'll end up like the rest.

The graffiti on the walls scream ownership,
this is our territory, we won't take any shit.
You mess with the crimson boys, pray to god,
better yet, go to the cemetary, select a plot

Some of the boys drive up, we shake hands,
and go on to have a bit of fun with the Crabs.
Unlike my fellow bloods, crabs are inhuman,
nothing more than pussies and cretins.

There's a blue rag in the middle of the street,
covered in the flames of hate, and disrespect.
A gang war erupts in the back alleys of the city,
behind a steel mill, in the junkyard and dissipated vicinities.

To some people, it's sickening to think even about it,
but to us, it's just another day of being who we are.
Killing our blood enemies, just something we do with no regrets,
what would you do if you were in my situation, puss out, and die?

NO.

You should've left it, seriously, pretend that post never happened.

So, ignoring the previous post of mine, how was the original poem?

It was alright but fleshless, however I now feel that fleshlessness was a blessing.

Fleshless? What do you mean by that?

It was bare, needed more to it, it was too short.

Okay, well, thank you. Next poem, then.

sorry but what do you mean about blue and red?????
in the main i liked the first poem more than the second and mainly because the end was better...... i think if you kept the long one but replaced the end by the original's one it would be quite nice. just leave the last paragraph shorter (2 verse), it'll be great.

I'm talking about the bloods and the crips.

oh yeah i didn't knew what it meant cause there are no bloods nor crip in belgium...