To beseech below
An angry sky
With fallen whispers
Rain clouds high
Above the field
The battle ended
Dead and wounded
Politics pretended.
To justify
The bodies slain
With twisted words
And whose to blame
As we dig the graves
People in a line
Covered by sheets
Blood stains to pine.
The ruins now
Seem to haunt
The soldiers minds
Deep piercing thought
Legalized by
Those afar
Blood on hands
It is bizarre.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: June 5th, 2026 01:19
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 73
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Teddy.15, Tristan Robert Lange, RSM0812, GenXer Sharon 🙏🍀, DLewis88
Offline)
Comments6
Good write N.
A bizarre sight - a bus turned up! lol.
Only a mirage lol
This poem is haunting and poignant where the justification for violence against one's fellow man is politically justified. Nicely penned
most kind, appreciated thanking you
You are most welcome
A wonderful piece of poetry that your title works perfectly with. Those politicians wouldn't be seen on the front line. 🌹
thanking you, always much appreciated
Telecracy is an oligarch's best friend, it seems. Distancing the reputation and personhood from the dirty work at all costs. I guess that's how henchmen. lacjeys and sidekicks abound.
thanks for read always much appreciated
Likewise, friend. Most welcome 🙏🕊️
There is blood everywhere. Its unfortunate and disappointing. One day people will learn. Good read.
hopefully my friend, thanking you much appreciated
it is definitely a very moving sight, and no one who sees or reads, can fail to be moved by it...
thanking you, much appreciated
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