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Sonnet War Poems | Sonnet Poems About War

These Sonnet War poems are examples of Sonnet poems about War. These are the best examples of Sonnet War poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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The Queen on Emerging From Her Refuge

She’d dwelt within a palace, and outside it, geese and brilliant peacocks used to strut inside a fragrant garden. As a bride, she’d said her vows beside the roses, but today no scent of blooms perfumes the air. The terrace sculptures, rubble now, are strewn across the floor. She gazes eastward where the mangos’ branches danced beneath the moon when zephyrs softly blew. Like poison, now a vapor comes, beginning to enwreathe her husband’s realm. There is a smell so foul her heart wells up with dread; she cannot breathe. As ashes drift around, she hangs her head with certainty her one beloved is dead. Written by Andrea Dietrich Oct. 11, 2014 for the Top Gun Poetry - Structured forms - Iambic verse III of Giorgio A. V. Form: Iambic Pentameter in an English Sonnet


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Too Late

TOO LATE
(Cornish sonnet)

There is no remedy, there is no cure.			
As mortars rip through the bloodied trenches,
on the forest fringes, follow the spoor,	
there, two fledging enemy soldiers lay		
dying, on thriving grass, breathing stenches,
praying to survive for another day.

For once yellow skin lay bare next to white.
With death now pushing against their locked teeth,
in pain, they begged each other for a light.
Too late, prejudice now lays defeated.
Too late, to put hatred back in its sheath.
Too late, these two young lives have been cheated.

There is no remedy, there is no cure,			
for once yellow skin lay bare next to white.		


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In The Meadow

The sun in morning haze diffused
A bright soft blanket o'er the meadow
To float and cloak what was misused, 
The dead and dying in the shadows.

This meadow in God's placid gaze
Where yesterday there laid two lovers,
Before the devil set ablaze
What this mourning blanket covers.

We are the children of all time
We are the parents of tomorrow;
The bells in distant steeples chime
And wring with tears and drip with sorrow.

Yet still with hatred in our hearts,
Within, a future battle starts.


April 19, 2013 Unfortunately our fields and meadows and cities are battlefields


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Give me a break I am PMS ing

I may slap you, curse you, smack you
Don’t get too serious honey, its monthly fun
I am PMS ing and my trauma is true
Be my gentleman and Pass My Shotgun

I may hate your friends and knock them down
Be any handsome man or cute chick
Don’t get them here when I am around
I am PMS ing, People Make me Sick

I may laugh out loud at your silly jokes
And the very next moment won’t find them funny
That catastrophic emotional trauma pokes
I am PMS ing, its Psychotic Mood Shift honey

Every month, within me I sense this ruinous storm
It’s not me honey, this phantom is Premenstrual Syndrome


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Still Here

I've seen trebuchets thrust rocks into crowds.
I've heard the weeping of the wounded pray.
I've walked through blood clad fields and screamed aloud.
Not a sound or even a whisper came.
I've felt the bite of water and of flame,
The warmth of friendship, the breaking of bones.
And I've heard the drafters call out my name,
Said goodbye to everything I have known.
Marched on crimson ground as the sunlight shone,
Held our flag in victory and disgrace.
Celebrated as the bodies lay prone;
The memories I wish I could erase.
Still those faces haunt; those faces of fear!
Long gone they are and yet I am still here.


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At Gettysburg - Garden Party

Unyielding stone, the furniture
Au naturel, no dress lace tablecloth
Concealing ants scavenging our picnic lunch. Loathe
Are we to flick them while they steal our cheese and crackers.

Siblings ensconced, diffused canopy of oak
Umbrellas, searing sun bewitches charming shadows;
Clover, petals three and sometimes four, meadows
Pleasant carpets cradling this resolute rock.

These stones echo cries reverberating past
More than a century's memorializing years
When other siblings set swords upon this grave frontier
In armies blue and gray amassed.

Immortal the crashing clash, bone against bone,
At Gettysburg to keep this nation one.


June 5, 2014
Garden Party Contest
Sponsor:  Cyndi MacMillan


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Soldier of Ages

Dedicated to  Lt. Gen. George S. Patton, Jr. (November 11, 1885 – December 21, 1945) 


I'd fought a hundred battles 
       through the ages past and new 
I'd been a lowly foot soldier 
       But at times commanded too. 
  
I was a witness of Arab mothers 
       Fleeing cities under-siege ; 
A new age liberator, 
       The commander of the third. 
  
I had served with Ceasar's legion; 
       The Carthaginians; and the Greeks. 
When Arthur was in his Kingship, 
I was a captain of the knights 
  
A horseman tough and skillful 
       Of medieval cavalier; 
But ages had transformed me 
       to dash with iron wheels 
  
The only time I meet MacArthur 
       Was in the salient of St. Mehiel 
We both stood erect, calm, and unmindful 
       To the guns and bursting shell. 
           
Oh well take a look at Monty 
       Too slow for his advance 
He didn't expect me to take Palermo 
       or Mesina to my plan 
  
 I was reproved of my harshness, 
       They knew not that I was somber too 
I cared not of my language 
       As long as my point would get through 
  
I'd mixed my words with profanities 
       That my orders surely stick 
My men would always remember every word 
       While they're in the battle field 
  
Oh my, I hate those yellow bastards 
       They have no place on this earth 
I sent them to the frontlines 
       That no more they would breed 
  
 Those swivel chair commanders 
       Discounted my two days time 
But brave soldier deserved to be rescued 
       Before his dog tag stops to chime. 
  
So my men made it to Dunkirk 
       To the delight of McAuliffe 
"Surrender!" yelled the Nazis 
       but "nutz" was all he said. 
  
I was cut off of supplies and fuel 
       For Market Garden's sake 
But after pissing the flowing River 
       I held the Fuhrer's nest 
  
So soon another war was ended 
       Mine enemies had lost 
The iron carver claimed the glory 
       And relieved me from my post.   


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THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN

      THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN     
        February 13, 1945
Pathfinders lit the night to show the way
for bombardiers too hungry for the word;
as Dresden's dark was made as light as day,
all hearts were stopped before the blasts were heard;

and as the din was heard by all their ears
the sound it made was not reality
but far removed from all the hopes and fears
and what they thought would never come to be.

They loved the Fuhrer--sin enough for all
to die the fiery death of sweet revenge
brought on by those who had enough of gall
to drop their loads in wartimes heated binge!

       And when the fire consumed all that it could
        the winter of their lives was understood.


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SMOKESTACKS OF AUSCHWITZ

     THE SMOKESTACKS OF AUSCHWITZ
A trail of smoke fades to an autumn dawn,
as sounds of morning break unearthly still,
arising to the day, some life goes on,
while others have the fear it never will.

Some ashes drift about the morning air,
appearing as do snowflakes in a stall,
to restless breezes they drift everywhere
and they are spread about before they fall.

Each life that was, is slow in pure descent,
and longing for the earth turning below,
the mother of all life, where time is spent,
until time's all run out--it's time to go.

Down in the valley echoes from a train,
awhistling, here come the dead again.
© ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet


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A Letter Too Late

A LETTER TOO LATE

NEW YEARS DAY 1915

When your there amongst others yet behind standing alone
No sign for directions only footprints across the snow,
Sometimes it’s difficult to turn a warm heart that of stone
Then to linger in memories of one’s bountiful glow.

Look to your hands need me feel me wanting to hold you tight
Remember this as you sense the urge to let your tears dwell,
I promise I won’t let go no matter how long the night
My shoulders for you to lean upon while your fears I’ll quell.

I will be with you when you think that I am gone
In that place you write about there where life’s gone wrong,
The depth of your anguish grows since the sun last shone
Yet from beyond the darkness you tell of a song,
A truce you say to end this war for men like you
To shake another’s hand like yours a hand that slew.

© Harry J Horsman 2015
© Amanda M Tams 2015


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Kim Jong-un leader of the starving

I wonder what your thinking, in your country far away
And what on earth possesses you to threaten mine today
You allow your people to starve, munitions they are first
While daily people starve to death and many die of thirst

Your father and grandfather should have taught you how to care
Instead they shared their legacy of treating people unfair
Many live in work camps with three generations or more
Simply because they disagreed, so now all must chore

You live in style above the rest, have people who adore
But deep down, I believe that each person longs for more
You teach hatred and despise my country each and every day
For freedom and free choice would take yours away

Your people follow in fear, like robots in a line
I wonder how long they will conform or will it be your time
More and more try to escape, or die instead of live
In a country such as yours that takes much more than it gives

Each building,statue, memorial you have to tell a tale
Of twisted truths and travesties instead they often fail
For freedom is what's needed in the country you call home
Grow food instead of opium,and leave the people alone

You have the power in your hands to change what was past
Hurry please before it's too late you must do it fast
Do not start a war in which more people will die
Because your father and grandfather started it with a lie. 




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A lonely evening

In many dreams of you, I wish
If I could get my hands on the wings
If only I could come over to you now, 
It would be the best moment in my life.
Alone in a cool evening
With the light of a candle and the breeze from afar
And then the moment would draw close
And the night would become our friend

And nature would support our breathe
And our dream would seem simple
And nightmare be far from us
For the moment would be the beginning of a new era
And the dawn would bring joy
Happiness and love 


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The Going Insane

     SARAJEVO the going insane
Could anyone explain the going mad
of someone whom your life's depended on,
or how, the sanity, all they have had
grows weaker until all they've had is gone?

You know their love's been such a part of you
but life had reason, it just couldn't stay,
and in your heart you know the love was true,
it did not end, it only slipped away.

To watch, as those you've loved, grow weak in mind
is watching death--in all your eyes can see,
and helpless, all your hope is but to find
their death is not as fast as death should be.

   It takes a long time knowing all is gone
   and longer finding reason to go on.
© Ron Arbuthnot aka Ron wilson


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Paradise Lost

Though wide awake she dreams of yesterday
when in the grove they said their last goodbyes
and fought the tears and hopes that he could stay,
then shared a futile prayer that questioned why.

Now torn from mother's arms and lover's lips
the best of youth is sacrificed to war
in field and sea and sky where life is stripped
when it is love and peace that we implore.

The pages of his poems are all that's left
and yesterday seems ... oh so far away,
he picked an orange blossom that she kept
still sweet within the orchard its bouquet.

Like Eden is this lovely Paradise
and where he said her cheeks caught all the hues.
Like dew upon the orange in the night,
her tears dripped softly weaving through her rouge.

Then Paradise was blurred now all around -
his last words of "adieu" the only sound.

Craig Cornish, Posted July 19, 2014
This is the only 18 line sonnet form, a Heroic Sonnet


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BATTLECRY

          BattleCry
So stirs the hearts of all, in great delight,
   to raise a banner high, the march of fate;
to lead the way, where only dark of night,
   might find a way to quench the thirst for hate;   
   
Determined, each is blest to heed the call,
   of self appointed leaders of the day, 
the good, the bad, the dead, but butchers all,   
   one crowned in light, the others in decay!

To follow is the way, if wrong or right,
    determined by the one who stands at last,
we glow in judgement as if Heaven might
    just comprehend the end that binds us fast.

      and when we see it come around once more,
      all wonder is what leads us on to war?
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


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Sunken Tears

                                   He stood bravely before me 
                           with a medal of honor in his right hand
                        and a bandage of agony around his left knee
                           It seemed like he had struggled to stand,
                             his crutches lay useless on the ground
                                 I found it hard to understand why,
                                 a soldier in pain didn't even frown
                                      With a voice firm but dry
                                 his words shook me like thunder
                                "You're now the man of this house"
                                 he uttered like a worn-out hunter
                            quivering up my legs like a terrified mouse
                                 Drowning my mind through cold ears
                        he passed his sincere respect and sunken tears


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A warm jungle

Through the warm jungle you can hear every cry.
Crackling gunfire trickles in the echoes; 
Why this place fell and crumbled, no one knows why.
There they all fall in place like a domino.

Welcome to the jungle, filled with death and ill. 
A jungle of fear, a few dare to challenge. 
A smoke, a radio, anything to kill;
At times, there were fires that went unchallenged. 

The smell of sulfur roams through this jungle air.
A surplus supply of shell rounds in the jeep. 
Bugs, trash, dirty clothes, all I see everywhere.
The monumental hill is too big and steep. 

Men were lost, but never forgotten prayers.
Some make it home; some make there way up the stairs.


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The Scent of Water

He was a large soldier, standing well over six feet.
In World War II; imprisoned in the Philippines.
Thousands perished on the Bataan Death March.
They were brutally beaten; starved and parched.

Wanting to give up, during this sixty five miles.
Thoughts of his wife, Helen; her beautiful smile.
They had vowed to be each others help mate.
He would press on, with a slow, painful gait.

Knowing she was praying for him gave him strength.
Tho thousands of miles apart, their hearts still linked.
Their marriage, like the oak tree; its' roots were very strong.
He was a skeletal seventy-eight pounds when he returned home.

When he was certain he could simply go no farther.
His lovely wife Helen became his scent of water.



*This is a true story about one of my husbands cousins, Helen and her 
husband. She has dedicated her life to helping find POWS or their remains. She 
works tirelessly and has helped numerous families. I am honored to know her. I never knew him. He had gone to heaven before I met my husband. 


July 16, 2014
Contest: Scent of Water
Sponsor: Faye Gibson


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4 Star General

          FOUR STAR GENERAL
What reasoning is there to study war
and then not turn them loose, in violent rage,
to bring catastrophe forevermore
to near-life who should be put in a cage?

the book of truth from histories remiss,
they laboured with, at West Point every night!
Napoleanic in their sacred bliss
could we deny what is a warriors right?

The stars upon their shoulders, bear with me,
they'll bury every dove in their own waste,
and those not dead will raise the flag and plea,
for Generals to save them in great haste!

       You'll not have any part of them until
         your only choice, is turn them loose to kill.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


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The Bombing Of Dresden - Monsieur L'Vampyre

    MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN
There was a night, I still recall it now,
as winters cold had turned to soft and mild,
and gave us hope, that time would still allow
the passing by--of death--as death was filed.

What manner of a beast, or tyrant king,
would set the path to bring destructions' fall
from out the darkened sky, who dare would bring
such catastrophic death to one and all?

Was not my Dresden safe from what was heard
of cities to the north--they fed the flame;
these questions yet remain, who gave the word
that made the good and bad turn out the same?

    All evil justified and made in haste
    is evil just the same as any waste.

I'd only just returned, in my own way,
within the dark from Paris, where I be
caught up with joy of liberation day,
when love was made alive and running free.

But lo! My thirst was filled, before too long,
my heart grew weary to be with mine own,
so in the dark my flight was swift and strong
and ended at an inn that few have known.

Perched on a hillside looking down the plain
from off the balcony, the Dresden lights
gave glimmer to a cold and drizzle rain
a beauty unsurpassed by any rights.

   Invited for a night of talk and wine,
   I settled in with a new friend of mine.

And so we wined and danced--into the night
not thoughtful of the war, though raging on,
and Gretchen, lovely Gretchen, felt my bite
upon her neck until her soul was gone

and part of all the loves I ever knew
so thus she came to be one of my own;
and shaken, we both did as lovers do,
and stared into the night for things unknown.

Quite suddenly the groan of engines' roar
though distant, filled the night, and deafening
and over Dresden, telling what's in store,
the fallings lights lit up just ev'rything.

   And lighted by Pathfinders, Dresden knew
   what ending all their world was coming to.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet


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An Expression of Gratitude

Dear Jake, I know you have never met me
I life in your homeland across the sea
Our priest gave us a list of men at war
He asked us to write; I couldn’t ignore

I can but dream of the horrors you see
Applauding the way you fight so bravely
You put your life on the line every day
And my gratitude I want to convey

Your days are filled with incredible strife
Do you have children at home and a wife?
You know that your family prays for you
I want you to know that I’m praying too

If you write back, I’ll return each letter
But when you’re home safely, I’ll feel better




Written July 28, 2012
*Entry for Gail’s “Write a Heartfelt Poem to a Soldier” contest


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Smokestacks of Auschwitz

     THE SMOKESTACKS OF AUSCHWITZ
A trail of smoke fades to an autumn dawn
as sounds of morning break unearthly still
arising to the day, some life goes on
while others have the fear it never will.

Some ashes drift about the morning air
appearing as do snowflakes in a stall,
to restless breezes they drift everywhere
and they are spread about before they fall.

Each life that was is slow in pure descent
and longing for the earth that pounds below
the mother of all life, where time is spent,
until time's all run out--it's time to go.

Down in the valley echoes from a train
awhistling here come the dead again.
© Ron Arbuthnot aka ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa


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A Soldier's Cross to Bear

Out of foxhole field and bunkered platoon
  A patriot leads the clarion's blare:
Answers his country's call to arms but soon
  Duty and honour rise a toll I fear!
Let not councils of God and men restore
  The fallen soldier lest he fall again,
Or lest he conceal the alarms of war
  And live in knowing he himself has slain.
That the foot of pride no battle increase
  When he in fear his mighty weapon wields -
For it is only the dead who find peace
  Among the batteries in the killing fields.
Where the Dove flies the Hawk becomes a snare,
Whose profit in death is your Cross to Bear.

November 1992


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Sonnet of War

Sonnet of War

There be  a single cold fact, which no man can deny:

It be the ancient motif of war, engraved in human history.

Mankind seeks to justify war, thus he tells a soothing lie,
 
and to turn war into peace remains his greatest mystery.

Man's blood; be the ink in which he writes his story:

The pen which he prefers to use; is known as a knife.

With pride he kills, for power, greed  and  glory,

so blatantly he refuses to share the great gift of life.

But hope yet remains, despite blood  already spilled:

For the love in the present, can smite the hate of the past,

And so, with light can the dark void that is mankind, be filled.

This truth; has been true, since time and life began,

Alas it seems war, still remains the master of man.


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TROLLS - Sarajevo Bridges

          SARAJEVO - Trolls
In time we know what life is coming to,
  and what is real is what we never see;
without a trace, it stops all we can do
   to bring about those things we thought could be!

And in it all, there never comes around
   a single thing to ever have and hold;
as gentle as the love we never found,
   nor harsh as feeling we are growing old!

The bitter fruit of disappearing youth,
   have played the joke upon our vagrant souls, 
and all to soon, it comes around as truth,
   all bridges out, are occupied by trolls,

whose sight is but a bullet's deadly aim
and Sniper Alley has become their game.
E Ron Arbuthnot aka ron wilson


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Mans Dreams of Peace

Mans Dreams of Peace
     ~     ~    ~     ~
War hell no! It is not name of the game,
No bodies laying over the battlefields
There is no way I am today the same.
Women and children all dying in wet fields
All torn apart by war ugliness and warriors;
Must try hide in our nightmares to get sleep.
Helicopters seems to sounds like aviators,
Torn bodies of the war in it’s own attire 
Trying keep alive a dream that weeps.
Dreams of the dead must have ways to-conspire
Keep us from going back to peaceful sleep again.
Now we men dream of world peace within an dome,
Any major change in my sleep, is just spin,
For peace, not war! nor death! Just a home!
~
Steve L. Siegel
January 22, 2013


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NIGHT OF THE LONG KNIVES 2

   NIGHT OF THE LONG KNIVES 2
To your mind's eye, I lay what I may choose
to be the only way you'll ever find,
you'll never have the choice to win or lose,
but go the way I put into your mind.

What evil lurks? You'll never feel the grip
of what I only say between each line.
To lead you on, the vagrant of a ship
of soul, but destined to the will of mine.

Forgotten Swastikas still fly at night,
protected by all time and Horsemen Four, 
they'll soon be loosed again, in all their might
and feed upon man's need for time of war.

And I will put these things into your head,
to change it all, from life, to living dead.

Democracy is what God's given you,
and you have loved each minute in your haste,
you'd have it all, yes everything I do,
your treasure chest is overflowed with waste.

And you've forgotten how the world is burned,
night of the long knives never comes to mind,
forgotten in the past you never learned,
the history is there, not hard to find.

I am the master of what is your fate,
in social dominance, I claim it all,
and you will never see until too late,
Intimidation's made the way you'll fall.

And I have changed all things there in your head,
to bring about the life you'll live to dread.
© Ron Wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


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The Safe Zone - SARAJEVO

          SARAJEVO the safe zone
The missiles come down from surrounding green
hills made for home, but now are turned into
the hiding place for death that's always been
a part of life as life they always knew,

and when the sound of it comes to the mind
all Sarajevo hears the boom it makes
and wonders if there's any way to find
some hope, a bit of peace, as morning breaks;

the children close their eyes and make the run
not caring where their feet are running to
as shots ring out--some fired in just for fun
not caring what a little fun can do.

   And all the world it watches in surprise   
   if any falls, or any stops and cries.
© Ron Arbuthnot aka Ron Wilson


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Lancaster Bomber

You were standing on a museum floor
Calm and peaceful to fly no more
Lancaster bomber once you spread your wings
Your bomb bay doors open your pay load to fling

You helped us to win in world war two
As part of the Dam Buster's you proudly flew
Barnes Wallace's bouncing bombs you threw
Brave English airmen were your crew

So many were lost of your unique kind
As we look back through history that's what we find
Yet to save so many you were literally few
Yet we a thankful for what you did do

Risking all so that we could be be
Free to live in a world which you helped rid of tyranny



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Where the nation is mine

Where is the nation which speaks love ,
where are the spirits which kept us above ,
where can we find the solution for grime ,
like a tiny mosquito committing a crime ,  
where the air around lives in a coal miners lung - ,
serving all mankind , till the singers sung ,
darkness our future – remains in our fate , 
hard striking sweats – prove together very late . 

Love is far found under the graves ,
humanity is flown in the melodious waves ,
lacking all words – but we act very brave .

Sum up the words – saving bloody lives ,
bawl , cheer , and glamour – forging against the knives ,
clutch on the oldie – seeking truth till you dive .