The wheat fields
Are burning
The bridges
Are blown
Dead horses
And cattle
A child whimpers
Alone.
Villages ablaze
Bodies on ground
The enemies rifles
A cracking sound
That echoes in
Smokefilled air
The trees are wounded
By shelling afar.
The triumphant march on
More victims ahead
Birds in the sky
Sunshine to shed
Warming rays to ground
To bathe and forget
Mere pawns in a game
That man doesnt regret.
-
Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: January 29th, 2026 04:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 36
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Friendship, RSM0812
Offline)
Comments4
Pawns sacrifical pieces in a royal game. Nicely written Norman it makes its point in a powerful metaphoric manner
most kind. thanking you and much appreciated
You are most welcome
Good write N.
thanks its much appreciated
Well written.
thanking you and much appreciated as always
I love the write but disagree with the ending a bit. War and death as escalation goes, so will death and killing. Sometimes the only species on earth to invent and practice war needs a break. Hopefully sooner then later. The imagery was really well written and the rhyme scheme was perfect as always. Keep writoling.
many thanks for reading and comments, its much appreciated as always
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