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Gunshots pierce the quiet of the night Mothers hide their children in fright Pure air blackened by ash From explosions not very far Families torn apart Never knowing when their next going to...
I cry in fear, I scream with hate. What gave us all This ugly fate. To meet upon The battle field, Where all must fight, And none can yield. I do not want To do whats right. I want to kill.
Only a hero could save the day. And convince the world "crime does not pay!" For he is the one to lead the fight. And show us all wrong from right. To lead us towards our promised land.
The crescent moon was bleeding and blending, the wind blowing in from the west. Soldiers were shooting and seeding, igniting the growing unrest.
"Ready!" His heartbeat like the artillery boom, reminding him why he had fled. He had run away from the trenches, he had run for he feared being dead.
The nazi plague is spreading, bombs falling like thunder. Hitler's reign of terror, his will to take us under. I climb into the spitfire, I soar the blazing skies.
Footprints in the sand, fading into dust. Missiles overhead, snipers take their aim; Blindly scrabbling for help, who to trust. After this, life would never be the same.
"Stand your ground men!", said the sergeant major bold. "I said stand your fucking ground men. I will shoot the first man I see fold!". "Second rank, make ready!", the sergeant major cried.
Please note that this is not my work and is just a poem that I find truly amazing and inspiring :) Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through the...
Have you ever visited a crematory. Where they bury the dead of war.
Inspired by Game of Thrones -------- On these bloody knees I pray. I fought through everything to see this day. I've killed loved ones, and lost my friends. Now on my knees to you, Almighty, bends.
I've started a war poetry topic in my english lessons, this is just a little something inspired by the lesson we had today.Do enjoy!-L It doesn't matter who I am or where I am from, I am a soldier,...
A poem by Wilfred Owen written from memory: Bent double, like beggars under sacks, knocked-kneed coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge.
A poem about the world war one trenches:. Bang, bang. The guns are still firing. I'd try to go to sleep but I'm to scared. Plip, plop. The waters still dropping. I'd try to get dry if I still cared.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Remember me to one who lives there She once was a true love of mine.
I was inspired to write this by an ex army friend who said some soldiers would offer sweets to the local kids knowing enemy wouldn't fire on them, the human shield (war boy child).
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.