Shadows with
Wide eyes closing
Strips flesh
From bodies bloating
Of staggered men
With bones bleaching
From a foreign field
Combat reaching.
The silent shrill
Aghast is spoken
Upon no mans land
Spirits taken
Sentries held
Like statues frozen
The night sky
Merely a token.
Of some nightmare
Under darkness cover
Timeless whispers
Moments smother
Sanity in
Its insane traits
From a foreign field
With no gates.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: May 15th, 2025 01:39
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 31
- Users favorite of this poem: Damaso
Offline)
Comments3
Your poem etches war's haunting toll—where flesh and spirit fade unseen—asking if foreign fields ever truly release the souls they claim.
spot on, thanks for comment, appreciated
The devastation and meaninglessness of war falls from this poem and lays in front of the reader. Stark and emotionally engaging this poem protests violence and destruction of war. Well done
very kind, thanking you
Excellent write
you are very kind, thanks
You're welcome
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