This is a relatively dark poem I created after reading All Quiet On the Western Front. |
No nation goes to war by fate. it always hangs on a peoples hate. the gruesome hunger they must sate So they went to war where they were sent where minds and souls and hearts are rent till their bullets and lives are utterly spent they sing fire and flames they rattle and roar through guns and machines, the sound of war, of blood in heat the whisper of shame 'cause of the friends that you leave but one man knows peace, is in the eye of the beholder, and finds solace in the chaos, and the guns whipped from their holsters reinforcements sent to bolster the foolhardy lost cause, to take land from it's holder he's not like a soldier, but more a primordial hunter pursued by great winged beasts that breathe death and fire and roar like thunder. and monsters on tracks who's gaping, glowing maw will tear you asunder. Thats war, every man a hunter and the hunted I can see him standing there, in the cold morning air not nearly as cold as his wide eyed stare looking past like you're not there a dark mottled figure in suns glare his prematurely gray hair shines like spun iron, like the makeup of his soul: weary and tired strong and defiant. scary, full of dark fire on a soulless pyre walking the wire 'twist good and evil a cheat and a liar a savior lifted higher, a spire among men a man of dire, terrible action And no soldier fights 'cause gods on their side no, they fight for the brothers at their backs and pray they aren't sent home in sacks. no veteran believes in that old lie, when bullets fly and death is nigh as the slow soldier lies down and forever stares at the sky asking why, why? as he dies Though some may look to the sky and pray that god, and not gun, gets the final say Or else they lose their thoughts rage and pain burning souls deeply insane always remember, those who are slain, every day. Make it not in vain. |