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.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Online) - Published: January 29th, 2026 04:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Online)
Comments1
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
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