I slept like a drunkard
In a wide bed of dreams
A dead man for company
His isolation it screams.
And what of this man
In a uniform of war
A gun in his dead hand
A face round the door.
His mother remembers
A child in her arms
Blind to the truth
Of battlefield scars.
In a hole in the ground
As dawn rubs its eyes
A dead man for company
His mother she cries.
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Author:
nephilim56 (
Offline) - Published: September 22nd, 2023 01:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, Soman Ragavan, L. B. Mek.
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Comments3
I give utmost respect to all soldiers of war but you also show through the eyes of a mother and that's superb writing. 💖
you are too kind and many thanks for your appraisal
'His mother remembers
A child in her arms
Blind to the truth
Of battlefield scars.'
it's too heart-breaking, to witness
so they choose to go blind...
(Brilliant!
thank you dear Poet)
thank you, much appreciated comments
The rhyme is terrific while the details of the write, the imagery and story provided, hit deep. Burying someone is difficult, burying your child is worse, though there should be no comparison. I watched my mother bury my brother after the gulf war and this tells the truth of the tears.
So sorry to hear of your loss, I wanted to show the effect on soldiers and the ripple effect on loved ones. thank you
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