A Fragment: The cost
I want to see the sun rise above my head,
the problem is that I am already dead.
There is no surviving the next few hours,
empty is my quiver but I won't ever cower.
My last arrow took out another's life,
my sword lays beside me sharper then his knife.
Blood seeps from the wounds where he has sliced,
for land and riches our lives have been priced.
Darkness surrounding in, and outside of me,
I just want the rise of the sun to see.
A Fragment: A painting
As the sun rises and the shadows recede,
it reveals the price of the Kings greed.
The morning mist gently rolls, uncovers this view,
from ghostly figures to seeing reality true.
Towards the sun the looks, upwards they share,
bodies laying lifelessly tangled everywhere.
Arrows, swords, shields, horses, and blood,
a painted mess in a field of mud.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 14th, 2025 04:58
- Comment from author about the poem: The cost are the lives, and not seeing the sun rise again. Each conflict creates canvases to paint on.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
These two may be fragments but tie together well and if there was ever an antiwar message it is here. The whole idea of greed underlying war is a strong one and my favorite lines are the last one of the final fragment (a painted mess in a field of mud.) My father, grandfather, and great grandfather all fought in wars and all said the same after it was over. It was just a bunch of foolishness, A fave
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