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by Fibio Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · War · #1708846
A peom. A soldier's account of WW1, inspired by Willfred Owen. Death is the next adventure
Why is this so?


The Drums of War beat throughout the Land.
Our darkest hour is at hand.
Death himself engulfs the field;
A crop of sorrow he shall yield.

But alas! We gullible sheep shall dance,
Lost in a merry, a blissful trance!
Dreaming of Green; of Pure; of Light!
Praying to God in all his might.

But alas! Our dreams are not true,
My dreams, reality shall forever hue;
This truth, can be never undone,
Like the end of the world, it has begun.

This world is of metal rain,
Of chaos, of decay, of pyres of flame,
Which ignite, filling the sky,
To hide from God of what is nigh.

Oh, but what is this we see then?
Hills of shells of broken men;
Large chasms gouged into the very hearth,
The blackened and battered, once green earth.

I peer, to see the world ablaze;
Thick cinders block the heavens’ gaze,
As if to cover them in spite,
So there is no hope tonight.

And there! I see the toxic mist,
That hits us like a Titan’s fist.
Stretches its hand to caress the ground,
Friends touched, are deathly bound.

Suddenly struck with a pang of dread,
I try to wade the sea of dead,
Flee! Escape that fatal finger.
Flee! But fear will always linger.

This palm of Death scatters us sheep,
We fall like flies, we do not weep.
I do not that careless thing,
Unless to feel that fatal sting.

The tendrils loom with growing lust,
These channels harbour no more trust.
Into the lows and chasms death’s fingers flow,
Ravaging souls! Leaving friends hollow.

Our flock chance the open air,
But leave the fallen with not a care.
The metal torrents thick and fast,
And then! Behold a hellish blast!

The World alights with our sins,
This inferno, bright but dark, begins;
It devours at earth, life and air;
It is time to say the prayer.

We look, we see, as we die,
To this hell, we say goodbye;
Ready to leave this blackened face,
To live forever in God’s Good Grace.

We know, we feel, as we fly;
To His Gold Gates, at heaven high;
The peace, the light, happiness steep;
We are no longer such lowly sheep.

Our prayer, is answered, this we know,
Humans will reap the seeds that they sew.
© Copyright 2010 Fibio (fibio12 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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