Sinked ships, you can see them all the way from the bay
They serve as a testament to all the lives we lost that day
There's still blood running through the creases in the valley
You can smell the crimson coloured bullets, acting as the water's algae
The skies screamed, "Artillery shells!"
The ground laid down, tattooed with the heat of Hell
The craters resembled gouged out souls
Like those that were burdened with this broken land to roam
Their memory of everything is aching and sore
Like the bare soil that sits beneath them, leaving them poor
The filth that lives on their skin and under their nails
Is almost like the national uniform, made only of pain
The faces of the innocent were stretched by fear and sorrow
Hopeless hearts forgetting what it felt like on a good morrow
What has their God dished out to them?
Echoing cries in a hollow world and the sight of torn up flesh...
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Author:
tema (
Offline) - Published: September 10th, 2021 08:07
- Comment from author about the poem: Wars are just another one of those ugly parts of the world, caused by ego, pride, religion, money, whatever you can think of...sad part is that the ones affected the worst have absolutely nothing to do with any of it.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments1
Here at MPS (and I don’t exclude myself from this) when we think of (and thus poeticize) war more often than not it is the WW1 1914-18 trenches that we turn to. There are reasons, I think, for that – not hard to work out; here I want to thank you for reminding us that the term ’war’ is far more generalisable than that and in particular the extraordinary (no, not extraordinary at all) loss of life suffered by the uninvolved civilian population.
yeah it's a great shame and a sad reality, glad we can write about it and display other perspectives involved..thanks for the read btw
You are welcome - do write some more.
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