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#FridayFun Crouched - in a hole, lone; death bullets circle his home. Child, stranger to calm. Fear - a common foe, That visits with every shot. Trapped, nowhere to go.
#FridayFun Crouched - in a hole, lone; death bullets circle his home. Child, stranger to calm. Fear - a common foe, That visits with every shot. Trapped, nowhere to go.
#FridayFun Crouched - in a hole, lone; death bullets circle his home. Child, stranger to calm. Fear - a common foe, That visits with every shot. Trapped, nowhere to go.
I remember it at nighttime, The never ending blows, The yelling and the blasting, And the far-off, distant glows.
A bag of fools slung over his shoulder, the soldier crawls along the line of trees. One, two, and three then breathes as a twilight enemy passes and moves towards. His future, his destiny.
I have always believed that there can never be an excuse for lying, that is until I read this poem.
Just another lonesome walk down the littered streets of a town called Jalalabad.
#acrosticombined No, if I reach out, I'll see I have no hand, the trenches empty, God has deserted me, as Has my friends, my army, my family.
#acrostic No, if I reach out, I'll see I have no hand, the trenches empty, God has deserted me, as Has my friends, my army, my family.
"There will be NO cowards in my regiment. We will fight to the death and fight as honourable gentlemen.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
10 o'clock, The last man dead. The grass as a bed, One final gunshot in his head. 11 o'clock, The end of violence. An eerie silence, Mixed with a bloody essence.
#remembrance I crouch inside this muddy trench. Death is a disease. I'm clouded by smoke With a feeling of unease. I hear a scream. A cry. A plea. But none of this Reaches me.
The state of all. That's been before. The bloodied lands. The stains of war. The engraved names. The epitaphs. The statues of. A warmongers craft. The battle fields. Bereft of life. The fallen ones.
Barbed wire and mud, Mud and wire and rain, Shouts, screams and gunfire, Never ending pain. Waiting for our call, The time for us to fight, Writing shakily by hand, Be it day or night.
Oh mother my mouth is full of stars As cartridges in the tray. My blood is a twin-branched scarlet tree that runs, all runs away. Oh "Cooks to the galley" That sounded off.
I love this poem...
For remembrance day.
At the request of @smellyfingers Although the noise of the guns was like incessant thunder in the dark skies overhead; I did not retreat.
#wewillrememberthem The following is a poem by one of two of the best war poets Siegfried Sassoon, the other Wilfred Owen. If you haven't read any if their work, I recommend it.
My back is sore,. My limbs are shaking,. In this war,. I'll continue waking,. Death day by day,. And the pain in their eyes,. Making my way,. As the others still die,. Sweaty palms,.
"Move move move!", Where the words he said, As he sent us all, To be dead. Peering over, The ledge ahead, I was foreseeing, Me lying down dead.
Gone ... are the fatigues Gone ... is the d.u.s.t Gone ... are the rifles Gone is the Trust Gone ... is the power Gone ... is the need Gone are HIS children Gone ... is the greed Gone ...
Captain Winters looked ahead and lowered his rifle.He turned around in the small trench, facing his men."Ok, I'm going over.Advance on the red smoke!" He shouted, then he lunged over the ditch and...