Mother in War
Drip drop drip. My tears fall of my cheek. As I sit here waiting. Waiting. Waiting for the news. That the war is at an end. March on March can hear him stomping. Chanting proud but scared. Scared.
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Drip drop drip. My tears fall of my cheek. As I sit here waiting. Waiting. Waiting for the news. That the war is at an end. March on March can hear him stomping. Chanting proud but scared. Scared.
So I have several on-the-go stories at any one moment in time. I will list them along with a short summery so you can see what - if any - you'll be interested in.
I write this now from my corridor of mud. I think of you and all things good. The bullets whistle, breaking the still air. I am surrounded by sorrow and despair. This war it plucked me from my life.
In the muddy lands And the places of war A rifle in his hands A battle he saw His friends with him Falling to the ground In the light of night so dim Death all around The bombs and blood An image...
I'm laying here still; the walls are shaking Outside there's history in the making I lost my friend in the battle today There's pain in my heart, it won't go away The outside dirt is falling from the...
For remembrance day.
Many years ago, a comet was rushing towards Earth, it landed in the Pacific Ocean, this caused a wave so large it was hitting China. The wave wiped out many cities near the Pacific Ocean.
I was 32 when the war started. Every day before that seemed to only bring the world closer to what was referred to as "the last great war".
Vermillion, crimson, titian,. A reminder of the soldiers fighting,. The breeze coaxes them to dance,. The soldiers battle as if in a trance,. Their heavy, silky petals ruffle proudly,.
Death and danger is all it contained,. Dust and decay is all that remained,. Wilted flowers and dying trees,. Falling skies and boiling seas,. When humanity rained down fire,.
#household There was bodies all around me, I was covered in the blood of my captain, the smell is what I remember the most, a horrible chemical stench.
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.