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Death Patriotic Poems | Death Poems About Patriotic

These Death Patriotic poems are examples of Death poems about Patriotic. These are the best examples of Death Patriotic poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

Soldier

I saw a burial with a bugler playing taps;
I turned to my father, “what happened?” I asked.
He clutched my hand and with a quiver in his voice,
he began to explain and his eyes became moist.

“My son,” he said, “this is rather difficult for me;
for an old veteran like myself this is tough to see.
In that coffin lies a genuine patriotic warrior,
an honest-to-God hero, an American soldier.

I appreciate that soldier and the service he gave,
and I honor his sacrifice as he’s laid in his grave.
He was honorable, selfless, courageous, and bold;
please remember him son, as you grow old.

The value of his service, I must explain,
if not remembered, will be lost in vain.
As a nation we’re nothing without soldiers like him;
and failing to remember would be a terrible sin.”

I listened in awe as my father spoke,
it seemed as if his heart were broke.
I suddenly remembered when he went to war,
and when he returned I thought nothing more.

I never asked why he walked with a limp,
and I didn’t care about why he was sick.
I was too busy enjoying the life that I had,
to realize that I had it because of dad.

I finally understood what my dad was about,
and it hurt so bad I cried out loud.
He sacrificed so much so I could be free,
and his battle scars were suffered for me.

It was my father’s spirit that spoke to me that day;
thank God I finally understood what he had to say.
I saluted his coffin as they laid him to rest,
and I thought about the medals pinned on his chest.

That I didn’t honor him sooner, I will always regret;
and I pledged that day to never again forget.
I’m proud that my dad was a patriotic warrior;
I’m honored to be the son of an American soldier. 

Copyright © Ed Coet

Details | Tanka | |

Tanka 3

silently I lie awaiting I await thee a wry smirk greets me sighted precision confirms sporadic crimson now speaks

Copyright © James Fraser

Details | Epitaph | |

The Day the Eagle Cried

We will never forget exactly where we were, 
	We will never forget exactly what we were doing, 
		We could never forget the loss we felt – 9/11/01.

We saw the birth of amazing heroes,
	We mourned with the grief of thousands,
		We marveled at the strength of the human spirit.

It was the day we held our children more closely,
	It was the day the American Family was reborn,
		And the day we became “One Nation, Under God.”

We heard those resounding words, “A plane hit the tower”,
	We watched in disbelief as the second tower fell to earth,
		And we heard the most heroic of words, “Let’s Roll!”

There were so many lessons that we learned,
	There are so many memories to be held dear,
		There was “Old Glory” – still standing to give us hope.

Firemen, Policemen, Clergy and Civilians-
	Were taken from us in a few fleeting moments,
		We saw a flight of angels, and an Eagle cry.

We became the strongest and most formidable of enemies,
	The most united in spirit and purpose in decades,
		We were filled with renewed honor and pride.

Yes, we lost the very innocence of our being,
	We lost the complacency of everyday routine,
		But yet we gained so much more.

For now we know the true meaning of so many, many words –
	“Indivisible”, “In God We Trust”, “United We Stand”
    		and the most important of all -
			“Greater Love Hath No Man Than This”…

Copyright © Meridy Petricciolli

Details | Verse | |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Epitaph | |

The Unknown Soldier

I stand at your grave.
I do not know your name.
I know not where you are from.
Where you fought,
nor where you died.

The horrors and pain you suffered,
were not in vain.
The death and destruction brought you pain.

I weep at your grave,
for the life you gave.
I weep for the Mother,
that gave you that life.

I kneel before your grave.
I bow my head in gratitude to you,
The Unknown Soldier.
Forever Remembered.

Copyright © Gypsyof Essence

Details | Elegy | |

Running

I've trained for this. 
Lungs burning, muscles twitching
as I close in
on the line-
24,25,26.
I see them clearly now-
My wife, my child-
smiling, cheering
as they urge me
through the echoes
of feet smacking
pavement,
through my 
tunneled view of
the victory line,
through my exhaustion,
through my pain.

I've trained for this.
Lungs burning, muscles twitching
as I close in on my targets.
Thousands! There are many!
I can see them clearly now-
a woman, a child-
smiling, cheering
as I slip past
and drop my bags.
And now I am
running
through the 
smoke and through the
screams as runners push
toward the finish line
without legs.

I've trained for this.
Lungs burning, muscles twitching
as I close in
on the scene.
175, 176...
I see them clearly now-
the woman, the child-
lifeless, bleeding
as they urge me
through echoes 
of feet smacking
pavement,
through my
tunneled view of 
torment and death and
I can do nothing but
hold their hand.

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs

Details | I do not know? | |

Chris Kyle the Great Sniper

Before you read this poem, I would like to invite you in reading about the great American sniper hero. I am also dedicating this to the fallen sniper because he is a true Patriotic Hero. Thank you.

Chris Kyle was and still is loved by many, this to be true I say
I always believe him to be, a great sniper to this undying day.
Why must things happen to people, that are always so kind
Life would be better keeping some, alive alongside mankind.

Why don’t I tell you a story, about this very kind honest fellow
He was and is an U.S. Navy Seal, but along that chill and mellow.
The most lethal sniper known of, in American military history
With a very high percentage confirmed kills, quite the victory.

At the young age of eight, his father taught him how to shoot
A great father teaching a son, instead of giving him the boot.
A bronco rider for the rodeo, sadly gave it up for a serious injury
It was to his arm although he still lived, with very great dignity.

Being a great sniper had an effect, putting souls to their bed
Eventually somewhat famous, an increasing bounty upon his head.
Undoubtedly dubbed the “Devil of Ramadi”, by non-other than Iraqi
An increasing bounty shot twice, but his body and will still intact.

After a while serving his country, he retired heading home graciously
Taking back some long spent  time, spending it with his family.
Chris Kyle a loved husband, a friend to many and a beloved son
His homeland now saddened, for America has lost a patriotic one.

A great warrior indeed, in my opinion our greatest honorable hero
He put his life on the line, instead of becoming the common zero.
The greatest treasure of all, came from within himself to prove
That all humans aren’t wrongful, but that we all can improve.

Copyright © Dalton A. J. Hunkler

Details | Epitaph | |

John F Kennedy

John F. Kennedy 1917-1963 The great 35th president of US It wasn't really a success He tried to stop the missile bases There were lot of angry faces When there was about to be a war Peace was what he asked for Texas was the place he was shot Later, the criminal was caught He didn't survive the pain His people cried like the rain

Copyright © Heeju Kim

Details | Rhyme | |

Kingdom Lost

In summertime, the ivy climbs,
and hides the castle wall.
The king dreams of late,
that the sea is so great,
and yet - his boat is so small.
As swift as a fox and
dark as a raven on wing,
seven hundred soldiers march  
into the valley of the king.
Long overdue, a battle ensues
flanking the powers that be.
Children cry, and good men die, 
the monarch is now on his knee…
Soon the horsemen alone 
try to maintain the throne.
But the long way around
is the shortest way home.
The evening is filled
with chaos and smoke,
and the kingdom is 
stunned by it all…
Soon the sun will go down,
and in spite of his crown, 
the king will undoubtedly fall…
His rival’s strength
was mistaken,
by a king overtaken,
his life is now but a pawn.
His authority lifted,
the power has shifted –
an era of glory is gone…
 
 
 

Copyright © Cole Banner

Details | Free verse | |

The Premature Death Of A Patriotic Redneck

“I’m telling you the God’s honest truth;
Mohammed is the Devil’s son. 
Can I get a big amen on that good people?
Who in the fricking fracking hell
threw that hot dang grenade in here?”
May you forever rest in peace Bubba Ray.

Copyright © Jerry Stevenson

Details | Senryu | |

Senryu 2

they pledge allegiance
brave soldier does not return
flag folded with care

© Donna Jones 

Copyright © Donna Jones

Details | Free verse | |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.


Copyright © Mac McGovern

Details | Free verse | |

If Old Men Fought

An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war

A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying

Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
forever more,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
families mourn

A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
minimal risk,
long life, his number one ambition

As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed

The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late

Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right

Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right

Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight

Copyright © Mac McGovern

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Freedom Uprise

We will not ride alone on this momentous journey. 
We will ride gathering our numbers, from the great mountains. 
We will travel to the valley of rivers, towards the great ocean.
For we have a great army.

Those who enslaved us with their power, stand on the top of the hill.
They stare down over the army below.
An army of vengeance we have gathered.
We will ride to the battle field at the great buildings.

Our intent is to wage war.
Fear will not take us.
You are weak supremacy, you will die by the sword. 
You will die by the hand of my fellow warriors.

This is war.
Blood will be spilt. 
Men will draw their last breaths as they fall back onto mother earth.
Mother Earth will soak up the spilled blood of our brothers and sisters.


We will be fierce and haste not.
We the suppressed will not retreat.
We the people will rise, with swords and fists. 
We are ready to die for what is equitably ours.

This is not an illusion. 
The fight against the money mongers, the powers that be.
Those that hold the power, will feel our angry wrath.
None will go unscathed.

We will watch the blood spill in and about the great buildings. 
Down the concrete stairs it will flow, rich, deep cherry red. 
Into the green of the grass, it flows.
Fear will choke your breath.

Reflections of your past, rushing before you. 
Thoughts of the dead, invade your mind.
Hollow is the cry of war, as we charge ahead to fight the battle.
To take the final stand, to give it our all.

Justice will reign by the sword and the all mighty hand.
Judgement day has arrived with this great army gathered beside us.
We will ride, steadfast into the fray.
Make no mistake this day will come upon the powers that be.

Copyright © Gypsyof Essence

Details | Free verse | |

Last Kiss

Open your eyes to the ever turning skies 
I want to here with me through the night 
My heart yearns into your soul 
Burning as if newly lit coal 
I bravely submerg the embers 
That the time I have can be spent with you 
And I remember each kiss every moment 
I was caught in your love that for just this day I remember 
So what happened was a chance for your love 
A time that I kept in a locket tied with a kiss 
 I wanted you to feel, to love, to slumber 
And to awake in my arms with that times kept bliss 
I lay silient in an umber

Copyright © Courtney Courtney

Details | Elegy | |

Hostages, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel's Otages by T Wignesan

Hostages, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Otages* by T. Wignesan

This blood will never dry up on our land
and those felled will lie there exposed.
We’ll keep grinding our teeth for fear of blurting out
we’ll not cry over these crosses upturned.

But we’ll remember these laid low devoid of memory
we’ll keep count of our dead as hours were numbered.
They who weigh heavy as a scourge upon history
tomorrow one’ll spurn them low will they be surprised.

And those who kept quiet for fear of being caught
their silence too will not be pardoned.
Those who stood up to argue and to pretend
even the less pious will have them condemned.

These deaths these wanton deaths are all our heritage
their poor bleeding bodies will not be separated.
We will not let our recall of their faces lie fallow
orchards will bloom on meadows lush green covered.

May they lie exposed naked under the sky like our land
and may their blood be mixed with our origins cherishcd.
The wild rose bush will cover them with the roses of ire
with their blood fierce spring seasons will be enlivened.

May these spring seasons be so cool beyond all words
songs of birds and children trundling paths be they filled.
And like a forest surrounding them heaves a sigh
a great people pray in subdued tones with arms raised.

Rhyme scheme of the original quatrains : abab, cbcb, dbdb, ebeb, abab, fgfg

( La liberté guide nos pas, O.C., t. I, p. 420) 

*First published in the review Traits, in January 1942, and again in L’Honneur des poètes, in 1943. According to Anne-Sophie CONSTANT, the editor of Anthologie Poétique, « Hostages » evokes the execution of hostages in the Chateaubriant Camp on October 22, 1941.

© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 18, 2014

Copyright © T Wignesan

Details | Rhyme | |

An Amulet of Peace

An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
An AR16 rifle in my hands….
Seemed like such a paradox,
In the paddies and jungles of Vietnam.

An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
A man’s life was in my hands….
That life was not only mine,
While trying to survive in Vietnam.

An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
Hoping for guidance by God’s hand….
Ignore our sin, keep us alive and safe,
While fighting in Vietnam.

An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
My duffel bag in my hand….
After 13 months, I was going home,
No more to fight in Vietnam.

An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
An Honorable Discharge in my hand….
Only to be spat upon, called ‘baby killer’,
By ‘peaceniks’ against the war in Vietnam.

An amulet of peace no longer hung ‘round my neck,
The challenge of a new life was at hand….
Found love, happiness and some success,
And tried not to think of Vietnam.

Again, that same amulet of peace hangs ‘round my neck;
And I hope my friends all understand….
I want our courageous young men and women
Out of Iraq and Afghanistan.

Copyright © Robert Candler

Details | Free verse | |

Welcome Home

<
WELCOME HOME
My precious son, welcome home
Let me hold you, embrace you, for you are not alone
My how you’ve changed, what battle has done
From serving your country, my soldier son

Your shoulders are broader, your face is like stone
Your hands are all battered, ankles worn to bone
You’ve shed lots of blood, and flood many tears
For you are a man, who’s truly faced fears

You’ve done the unthinkable, and have taken a life
And prayed for the courage, to do it in strife
You’ve lost many brothers, in battle abroad
And know that they rest, in a place next to God

I know who you are, because Im the same man
Now sit back and listen, while I hold your hand
I’ll tell you a tale, of freedom and pride
For I am God’s son, like you I have died

You see I’ve been a soldier, since the beginning of time
Fighting for good, my mission divine
I’ve died for Gods children, which you too have done
Your master is thankful, my soldier son

You were not blessed, with riches or gold
But with gifts much greater, than can ever be sold
You see god made you, with one mission in mind
To protect his creation, your mission divine

I know you have scars, that run deep inside
That man cannot see, but from me they can’t hide
Now hand me those burdens, in me you confide
Lay them at my feet, I’ll wear them with pride

Your mission is over, so lets take you home
To meet our great father, the man on the throne
He loves you so much, for what you have done
I welcome you home, my soldier son

Rhett Connolly, Author>

Copyright © rhett connolly

Details | Couplet | |

On a Soldier's Death

His back meets the cold, wet grass under him,
his eyes meet the blue endless sky hovering over him.

The cigarette from his hand dies out as it meets the sopping grass below
He feels the blood escape his body that now is no longer whole.

As he stares up into the sky,
he thinks of the girl he hated to leave behind.

He thinks of his mother, her tears streaming down,
his father’s proud hand, as it strongly grazed his crown.

He thinks of the men fighting for their life,
He thinks of his enemy, ducking for his life.

He thinks of the reasons war even exists,
Maybe this isn’t the way one should even live.

The sounds of his men approaching feels distant in his ear,
the struggle to save a life is unyielding,
 
when the bullet cuts through the heart,
there is no weaker feeling. 

Slowly the sounds of planes hushes down,
The sounds of gunfire are stifled,

The missiles whistling in the background stop
and all of nature’s sounds just suppress, as they come to a halt.

The men become blurry as his eyes start to freeze,
The body that once fought, now turned to solid ice.

For the last time in his life,
he thinks of the girl he wishes he never left behind.

He thinks of his mother, whose tears will continue to run,
the father’s proud hand, that wont ever touch his son.

In these last few seconds, he does not feel scared,
as he spent this life fighting strongly for his homeland.

Copyright © Jovana Pokrajac

Details | Free verse | |

The Strand

This expanse of land has seen things. 
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.

This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand. 

It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon. 

This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.

T.K

Copyright © Tyler Kisner

Details | Rhyme | |

4 - Messenger from the Dead

Alas there is no more confusion,
finally found my last conclusion.
Expect me as if Jesus will return,
from a ghost to a realm of concern.

Your dreams are portals like doors,
welcoming spirits into hasten wars.
Leaving the thoughts without trust,
keeping your fears in much disgust.

And though you sought no consequence,
deeds that confirm a wicked malevolence.
Awaiting in your nightmare of screams,
enjoy what is left amongst your dreams.

Copyright © Eternal Victor

Details | Ballad | |

The ballad of Tich Thomas

The Ballad of Tich Tomas
.
A dog was howling in the night
Perhaps she knew the truth
That Tich would not be coming home
This dog needed no proof
That the man who she loved so
He’d come to her no more
Because Lance corporal Thomas was
 A victim of the war.

Now Tich, he was a country boy
His farm it was his life
A boon to his community
He’d give in times of strife
He learned his trade in farming school
With honours he’d come through
Then settled down to work his farm
That’s what he planned to do.

But then, one day it came to him
The news he did not need
He’d been called up for army life
He went off without heed
To do his time in Puckapunyal
To get him set for war
He soon made it as Infanteer
So he joined a fighting corp

He worked real hard and gained a stripe
This showed he had potential
He earned his skills in jungle fighting
And then there came the call
For he to go to Vietnam
To five RAR he was sent
Charlie company was his unit
When off to war he went

It was in April sixty six
Our man went into battle
There in the Phuc Tuy provence
Those guns did roar and rattle
Our Tich he fought real gallantly
So brave was he, but then
The shrapnel done it’s evil job
He joined the fallen men.

They brought his body back to those
Who were waiting for him there
The whole town came to welcome him
And helped with grief and prayer
They buried him with all the honours
That came to fighting souls
Who died to keep their country free
Courageous in their roles.

More honour it was placed on him
By the country where he’d fought
They built a statue in his name
And his likeness it was caught
By the sculptor who did honour him
And carve him into stone
And now Tich Tomas guards the park
As he stands there all alone.

If you’re ever down in Nannup town
Go to the park that’s there
You’ll see the statue of young Tich
As his spirit everywhere
Will fill the souls of those who see
This fighting man, so brave
Who’s body lies so peacefully
In his own town, in a grave.

2007

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Epic | |

Come By the Sword, Die By The Sword

the blood of soldiers shouting for justice.
the battle field tells a story of defeat.
come by the sword,die by the sword.
bears  million of widows and orphan souls.

tragic memories of wounded hands.
rebels and soldiers cursed as one.
fighting for beliefs and motherlands.
mislead the future of their loved ones.

light of sun rays shining bright that morn.
forsaken land of Sheol will be abandoned.
blood in their hands washed off by tears.
flesh of cadavers buried on dreams.

the King of kings will stand up alone.
the sword of justice will save on His throne.
no other leaders will stand up above.
devil's sword will be home of a dove.

Copyright © Aiyah de Torres

Details | Nonet | |

Death of Freedom

(Nonet)



The heart of the eagle fills with grief
as she flies over our nation
and sees the death of freedom.
Her tears fall over all
America, land
of tyranny,
no longer
of the
free.

June 16, 2013

Copyright © Holly Smith

Details | Haiku | |

The Great War

Scores of suffering stalwart soldiers stand steadfast in scarlet-soaked soil ----------------- (C) John C Michaels, 2014 Submitted on the centenary of The Great War (4th August 2014), in memory of the sacrifice of those who are no longer with us and to whom we owe so much.

Copyright © John Michaels

Details | I do not know? | |

Good Morning, Apocalypse Now : A Tribute to a Vietnam Veteran

Untitled 5
(My Uncle: Good Morning, Apocalypse Now)

My uncle doesn't speak much
about Vietnam or the stuff
he witnessed when he 
was just a boy. See,
he likes to drive the back roads fast 
and honk at random cars that pass.
His friendly gestures always lead to how
he grew up compared to kids now. 

Jumping and racing trains on the tracks
became dodging bullets and carrying his buddy on his back.
The marshes and dirt valleys here
became the forests and trenches of the military frontier. 

Last year, my sister donned his jacket
a fatigued fatigue that hung in his closet. 
In color and memory darkened,
kept out of sight for fear it would harken
the PTSD he's stuggled to avoid. 

He saw his brothers, young like him
to Vietnam succumb
while on American soil
and he promised he would never speak,
for fear his stomach would coil, 
when remembering rice - a dish he no longer enjoys.
And there's no orange on his clothes to remind him of the agent that destroyed.

When he speaks a calm 
"Good morning", I wonder if he's thinking of Vietnam
or if he knows
that I admire his strength and 
bravery and how 
he continually fights against 
the "Apocalypse Now".

Copyright © Rachel Couvillon

Details | Rhyme | |

Ideological War of the Worlds

 The coming times can unfold,
far accross to all lands,
the casting shadow has fallen,
with it's far reaching hands,
accross our four cornered world,,
 Humanity progressed to progressive sufferage,
that comes with many names,
the ideology won without a shot,
convinced populations into guilted shame,
lost are voices of courage,,
 The warring world will arise,
between makers and takers,
parasitic ideology's green eyed mind,
re-writing regulations by progressive thinkers,
big brother's utopian great enterprise,,
 Dependent we all become, parasitically,
even forced fed into submission,
by governmental state so enlarged,
numbered you are by institution,
nothing owned, only redistributed cynically,,
 Paupers suffer under progressive fortitude,
soulless programs of living propaganda,
your worth, what you produce,
socialized into this living agenda,
living taxed products of servitude,
           , and then...
 The rise will come independent,
carrying courage and freedom proudly,
with wisdoms weapon in hand,
knowledge in the other soundly,
honor reclaimed by the sentient,,
 Independent declarations germinating from seed,
feared by any progressive regime,
warriors in freedom stand tall,
threatened is the progressive dream,
renewing freedoms that will breed,,
 The liberty that spawned revolution, 
alive from all moral conceptions,
viewed as evil that's progressive,
feared are soulless seeking redemption,
the light of liberty's salvation,,
 Beating freedoms of sentient heart,
the salvation of fighting worth,
a force greater than any darkness,
warriors of liberty step forth,
champions of honor that impart,,
     , next, the final chapter of...
 Ideological war of the worlds,
eye to eye never seen,
the hatred between clearly drawn,
problems with peace to intervene,
the conflict as it unfolds,,
 Coming as thieves of night,
armys on both sides  comes,
fortifying and building societial walls,
truth and lies propaganda welcomes,
armored suited masses to fight,,
 Emerges the lights of honor,
the independent class called defenders,
private elites of character gold,
the shadows behind all pretenders,
opperatives that's far more superior,,
 Defenders are warriors of light,
core beliefs that's solely independent,
religiously organized they never follow,
thorns in a crowned tyrant,
independent wills of great might,,
 They are why freedom thrives,
true leaders leading into tomorrow,
that govern by liberty's will
that invites everyone to follow,
founding fathers of our lives..  

Copyright © S.K. Y.

Details | Rhyme | |

The Price of Patriotism

I was a normal kid with normal dreams.
I liked my friends and my sports teams.
But that was before I heard the screams,
and now I am busting at the seams.

My name is Barton and I am proud to serve.
I have a hometown I'd like to preserve,
and I'd rather participate than merely observe.
I am not a fighter, but I've got the nerve.

They say innocence dies first in war.
A truth I find increasingly hard to ignore.
For now my brain is filled with unwanted gore,
all of which was non-existent before.

My name is Barton and I am a soldier.
My courage wanes as my heart grows colder.
My will falters as the war grows older,
for more than a gun rests on my shoulder.

I carry the memories of every brother I've lost,
as well as the face of every enemy I've crossed.
Coming to the truth that war carries quite the cost,
frozen in my mind like a flower in the frost.

My name is Barton and I'm ready to put down my gun.
This fighting is pointless and I'm all too ready to be done.
I refuse to be responsible for taking another mother's son.
My only goal now is go down before this setting sun.

The allure of life after this war has lost its luster,
Too many bombs and my thoughts begin to fluster.
Lady luck has left me no choice but to trust her.
So I gather all of the strength I can muster.

My name is Barton and here I make my stand.
From the shore I run through blood stained sand.
Up the hill, into the bunker, at least that's what was planned.
Eliminate the battery with the primed explosives in my hand.

The incoherent thoughts fade as I rush my final goal.
The bullets pierce my flesh, but it's an inconsequential toll,
for I knew my fate before leaping from that fox hole.
I'd rather die a hero than return home callous with no soul.

My name is Barton and I died so I wouldn't dream another day,
For the Barton who left to go to war got lost somewhere along the way.

Copyright © Shanice Hilliard

Details | Acrostic | |

COMPATRIOTS

                       COMPATRIOTS


Compatriots , where are you compatriots ?
On our a nation let’s pause a bit:
Money , money , money , money... 
Peace dying, children crying
All moving as if all is well
Take a look  at what nation has become :
Riots in south , terrorists in north ;
In the land of our births
Only God can say who is next
Thousand today, thousand tomorrow
Shame , what a shame !!! 

Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode

Details | Lyric | |

unnecessary chains

driving home
another late shift 
work long hours just 
to make dues
when the money I received 
gets paid back to you. 
lurking in the shadows
a man that has no soul
looking for ways to make
them like him more
his face is fresh I speak the truth
but justice isn't there...
all he cares is bonuses they set for him 
to slayer. 
corruptness lies where there is debt
and in our debt lies chains
the ones who say we're free are lame to think
its not a game. 
a joke, lies go up in smoke
as he goes home, with his bonus, alone.
wishing his dick was a little bigger. 
wishing the white girl loved him as much as she loves
the man he took away. 
Unnecessary Chains. 
Unnecessary Chains. 
his fresh robotic face
a disgust to the human race.

Copyright © Amy Kramer