PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

a mortally wounded soldier
not yet old enough to even shave
lays sprawled out upon a fragrant golden meadow
momentarily forgotten
in the pounding shock of musket smoke and cannon fire
howling defeated
amid yet another fiercely blazing battle
that pits living flesh against machines of
assault and misery
oh bleed on young man, bleed on
an artillery captain bellows "Charge!"
as he himself scours for a tidy way to safely
retreat his troops
oh fight on young men, fight on
some strange rustle in the woods up ahead
fills the younger fighting man's minds with terror
and dread mixed with much guarded anticipation
as wives, sisters. mothers, and lovers alike anxiously
await for letters from the front
and news back home
Press on you fine brave men, press on
in the twisted hush of the after battle haze
the moans from the wounded living and the smell
of such insidious death assail the misfortunate
weak repeatedly
too dazed even yet to realize they are still among
the uninjured and living themselves
as they slump, crawl, and or stumble through
the litter of the dead and those still dying
Stagger on destroyed youth, oh stagger on
almost reflexively
at first dawn of the very first day after the
devastation of the Domestics' war has been
formally ended
a scarred, visibly shaken, crippled young man on
make shift crutches
poignantly eyes the tear soaked smiles of his
thankful mother, father and sisters
as he shuffles determinedly to his awaiting mother's
trembling, outstretched arms
he crumbles
safely cocooned
falling into the bosom of his loving family
at last
his choked up father repeats these words
almost reverently over and over again
welcome home my son, oh welcome home.........
( written July 16,2005 945pm)