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Long Bereavement Poems | Long Bereavement Poetry

Long Bereavement Poems. Below are the most popular long Bereavement by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bereavement poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Katee Surface | Details |

My Little Boy Lost

My Little Boy Lost
by Katherine Huffman
Hello? My son, are you here?
I can't see you, I can't find you, why aren't you near?

As I walk the streets in search of you, 
I feel a pull, a tug, not sure what to do.
I passed the park as I looked for my boy, 
Even passed our play spot, but in my sight, not even a toy.
After everywhere I thought that I could go, 
There was one place, but it can't be right, this is all I know.

Hello? My son, are you here?
I can't see you, can't find you,
Why can't I feel you near?

This evening begins as I lay to rest my head, 
There are some things I'm unsure of, 
Like making your tiny bed.
Oh God, whats happening, haven't I counted your toes?
What about cradling your head or kissing your little nose?
What are these things I am unsure of, have I even done? 
Where are you, where are you my precious son?

Mommy lays here, in tears, her face on something cold.
Where are you my son, it's you I need to hold.
I've searched all day, it's turning into night,
I'm tired, I'm lost, but I still won't give up this fight.
My eyes start to close, slumber is far too near 
If I fall asleep, I may miss seeing you my dear.

Next thing I know, as I wake to the sun.
Wondering what it is, what has been done?
As I sit, my eyes focus, I start to look around.
Then, for some reason, they are drawn to the ground.
As I look, I see what has become,
This can't be, what's happening, where am I my son?

That cold my face last night laid upon, 
Was a marker, with your name, 
Of your body my little one.
Those things I wasn't sure if I'd ever done, 
Were but the memories, I'd hoped to make with you my son.

You were here, I know you were here 
My beautiful, precious son.
You were in mommies arms, such a little one.
As though it were as simple as reading a book,
I start to realize
These tangled webs have become unhooked.

That tug, that pull that led your mommy here, 
It was your spirit, it was your soul, 
It was your heart my little dear.

Here you were, here you were, 
Right with me, so very near.
My little boy, my son, 
Mommies little one was here.
You see? You led me where I needed to go.
For it was well past the time,
To accept this I know.

I feel a tug, I feel a pull.
I feel like I need to hurry, 
Like I have to go.
There is someone I remember,
I need to get to I know.
He's a small one, a little boy. 
He's your brother, my son, 
He's pulling, he's tugging, 
Needing mommy my little one.
I have to leave, I have to go, 
To find my baby, my son.

Oh Thank You my boy,
For bringing me here.
For letting my mind begin to see clear.
You showed me the way, 
I now see the light.
I am so close, so near in this dark night.

So here you are, here you are, 
With mommy, my baby is so very near.
You are in my heart, my mind, 
And this little brother of yours, my dear.

My little boy lost, my little boy lost, 
it's you I have found.
You were there with me,
as I slept on that ground.

Hello? My son, are you here?
I can see you, mommy found you, 
In my arms I hold you so near.
I've bathed you, I've clothed you, 
And cradled your head.
I counted your toes,
I bent in and kissed that little nose.
As you fell asleep in your bed.

Without him, 
Would these be memories
we are making my dear?
Without him would mommy, 
Be able to hold you so near?

We have a little angel to watch over us for all nights.
In spirit, with us, his soul,
Our endless guiding light.
He's your big brother, my son, my precious little one. 
He's right here, a part of you, 
Never again to be gone.

My little boy lost, my little boy lost,
It's you, I can see.
I have to Thank You 
For guiding me!


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

The Doctor Is A Dead Man Walking

Bob had a special talent
That only worked in his men’s store.
He had ‘clothing ESP’.
He knew what his customers wanted…and more.

When customer would come into his store
Bob would invariably say, 
“Hello. I'm Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

And he was always right,
Never missed a color, fabric, style or size.
He even knew the necessary alterations.
Customers couldn’t believe their ears and eyes.

Meanwhile, in another part of town,
Joe had a pounding, relentless migraine
For every minute for more than five years,
It had driven him near insane.

He’d lost his job to the pain.
Then, he lost his wife.
He had lost a lot of weight and rarely slept.
Yes, his was a miserable life.

And, of course,  sex was out of the question…
Even a little self-abuse.
There was nothing left for Joe but pain.
He felt his life was of no use.

So, Joe went to his doctor.
“Doc, please help me end this pain.
Give me something to make me sleep
And never wake up again.”

“You know I can’t assist your suicide.”,
Then he looked sad, perhaps ashamed.
“I never dreamed it would last five years,
But I know how to end the pain.”

“You can make it go away?!
Tell me, Doc!  What’s the word?”
“I’ll have to remove your testicles.”
Was the last thing that Joe heard.

But…when he came to, it struck him.
Sex was out of the question anyway;
But he might enjoy his meals again,
And he could sleep for days.

“Please check me in, Doc.
This opportunity I cannot shirk.”
So, the doctor removed his testicles.
He did his very best work.

A few days later, Joe waddled along,
Headache free and feeling pretty nice;
But every attractive woman he saw 
Reminded him of his sacrifice.

He decided it was appropriate
To do something nice for himself for a change.
So, he went into a travel agency;
And a six month cruise he arranged.

As he left the travel agency,
He was excited, feeling ready to go;
But for such a glorious adventure,
He would need new clothes.

As he walked along, he saw Bob’s Men's Store.
He walked in, only to hear Bob say,
“Hello.  I’m Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

“How could you know?” asked Joe.
“It’s a gift.  I don’t know how, but I do.
You’ve suffered five years with an ailment,
Found relief, so now you’re taking a cruise.” 

Joe could not believe his ears.
How could this stranger possibly know?
"You're right! That's amazing!
And I'm going to need new clothes." 

Bob then laid out a fabulous wardrobe
All the right colors, fabrics, styles…and each size.
Joe was incredibly impressed.
He could hardly believe his ears and eyes.

“How do you like the wardrobe?”
“It’s wonderful!”  Bob could see that Joe was pleased.
“Now,” said Bob, “What about undergarments;
You know…shorts and tees?

Let’s see…medium crew neck tees, all cotton.
I believe that you prefer white….
And jockey shorts, all cotton…. 34s.
Yes, I'm sure that’s right.”

Joe beamed, “You’re an amazing talent
And I just this second realized,
You've laid out this entire wardrobe
And only missed one size.”

Bob, surprised by his mistake, asked, “Really?
What did I miss?  I did my best for you.”
“Well…you’re right.” said Joe, “I do wear Jockeys,
But…well…I wear 32s.

“Oh, no!” said Bob with an ugly grimace.
“That would be a serious mistake.
Thirty-twos would be too small, 
They would cramp your balls.
You’ll get migraine headaches.”


Long poem by Just That Archaic Poet | Details |

From Great Pain Comes Great Inspiration

A total Jedi mind f*ck from Hell is what this is. I feel like a nuclear bomb has exploded in 
my mind of Hiroshima proportions and I am on the brink of a Chernobyl meltdown. 
Bewildered may be the best description of what I am feeling right now. I cannot process 
anything; I feel like I am in total and utter f*cking shock. I apologize for the expletives; 
I normally never curse when I write because I find it uncouth, but I have to get these 
feelings out; I know if I don't, I will want to cut, which is the last thing in the world I want to 
do. God knows I have enough scars; I don't need or want anymore.

From great pain comes great inspiration, I believe. Even though my mind is positively 
reeling at this very moment as I type, I feel exponentially inspired. I am completely 
overwhelmed emotionally, and I have just now stopped sobbing and weeping enough to 
write; to get these horrid feelings out of me.

Even the smallest of troubles or strife turn into absolute tragedy and catastrophe in my 
mind; I cannot help or control it, and God knows I wish I could. I "catastrophize" everything.

My best friend of 15 years just called me and told me she was moving to Alabama. I 
shouldn't even say "best friend" for she is more like a sister to me. Always, always she 
has been close by and been there for me as I have been for her, and now she is moving 
what seems like galaxies away from me, and the pain I am feeling is so tremendous and 
shocking; so unnerving and vexing and tormenting and afflicting...I could go on forever 
with melancholy and exasperating adjectives and descriptions. In my mind, she is dead 
and I am hosting the funeral in my brain. That's totally insane; I understand that, but at 
this moment I am NOT rational. For a moment after I stopped crying my eyes out, I 
almost felt catatonic. In my partner's arms, I just wept as he held me; I was shaking 
and shuddering furiously. I feel lost. I haven't felt this powerless or helpless since my 
grandparents died. She is moving away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am 
a horrible and selfish human being for I want her to stay, so desperate do I feel. 
Wendy, my sister, my best friend, my partner in crime; my cohort, consort, comrade, 
co-conspirator: you who know me best, inside and out, like a book...you are leaving me,
and my sorrow is swallowing me whole- devouring me like an angry, rabid beast. Don't 
go; don't leave me. With every fiber of my being I wish you to stay, but you've made up 
your mind and told me your decision at the worst possible time, when I am already too 
stressed to deal with or process this kind of pain and anguish in a healthy way. I'm ready 
to hit the bottles: whisky and Lortab. They will ease the pain and will quell the compulsion 
to cut.

This is the most personal blog I have written. I didn't know what else to do but turn this 
despair into words to help ease the heartache and suffering. If anyone cares, I need 
support right now. I need prayers and well wishes and good vibes; I am about to crumble 
to pieces. I feel like the proverbial rug has been pulled out from under my feet and I don't 
know what to do. This is the worst feeling in the world. Uncertainty is truly the worst of all 
ailments.

~Chan 


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

Circle of Life - A Pet Story

It seems like just the other day
Our pup, Shadrack, did pass away;
And altho’ they never seemed like friends,
My old cat, Jorg, knew Shad had met
   his untimely end.

He mourned his loss every day
And looked for Shadrack everywhere.
He’d mew and moan as if to say,
“We were friends.  I do care.”

Then one night, an eerie howl
Awoke me from my sleep.
He’d found Shad’s toys and left no doubt
That his feelings did run deep.

So our tedious search began
To find another likely pup;
But while my poor wife still grieved,
Could another measure up?


We went to Second Chance and Free to Live.
She just could not make up her mind.
She loved them all; but, if she picked just one,
The rest would have to stay behind.

Then, quite by chance, there was a “pound pup”
Who’d been picked up from the streets.
He was a mutt, a “schnauza-pug”;
But he was awfully sweet.

He jumped up and kissed her frantically.
He seemed aware of his “iffy” situation.
He made the best of his opportunity.
Tears of joy told her elation.

“This is the one”, she smiled through tears,
As she held him oh, so tight.
“I’m sure that Jorg will like him too.
Everything will be alright”.

And so it was, until one day
When old Jorg did pass away…

There was no hesitation on this sad occasion;
Come Saturday morning, we went straight 
   to the pound,
Open minded and hoping to be “saviors”,
Surely a nice cat was to be found.

“Sadly”, the lady said,” three kitties have only today.
There’s Andre and Panda and another one too”.
My wife smiled and said, “Jorg was your boy.  You pick.
They’re both beautiful cats.  It’s up to you”.

As I pondered this commitment
Another cat, a young one, caught my eye.
Like Jorg, he was a common gray tabby.
Fond memories were stirred.  I almost cried.

On closer look, his name was Boris;
And, strangely, he was number three.
There was a small sign on his crate,
“I don’t like other cats and other cats don’t like me”.

But there was character in his eyes and he was cute.
He was rolling and purring and stretching.
He seemed to look deep into my heart
And did his best to be quite fetching.

But because he was just a common gray tabby,
And because of the little sign,
His chances were slim, his future quite dim
And one day is precious little time.

For a moment I was lost in his eyes
And I heard his desperate plea, 
“I’m a swell cat and litter box trained.
Take me.  Please, take me”.

“Well”, my wife urged, “is it Andre or Panda”?
“One of us will take the other kitty.”, two older ladies chimed.
“You can each have one ladies”, I said with a smile.
I want Boris and he wants to be mine”.

In just hours he was romping and rolling with Pepper,
Who had happily welcomed his new friend.
Boris was a perfect fit, an affirmation;
The Circle of Life never ends.

Much more Joy than Sadness in this Circle,
And there should never be regrets.
Honor their memories and all the love they share,
Never break the Circle, never be without a Pet.


Long poem by Jesse James Forster | Details |

Combat

I remember that day and never looking back
I said goodbye to my family and grabbed my duffel bag
Im off to be a hero just like my grandfather and my dad
Im going to fight for America Im going to become a man 
I will make you all proud by protecting all your dreams
Generations of battles war nerve pumping throughout my veins
Familiar echoing war drum beating inside from my angry heart
No sooner than I am deployed the blood shed and death will start
Nothing could prepare me for the violence I would see
I met death with my first kill, and made a deal with inhumanity
My first experience of occupation I fired at every moving car
The rules of engagement were simple kill everything both near and far
Giving candy to little kids all named Michel Jackson, but not to win hearts
But to use them as human shields against  the enemy insurgent charge
Women and child seperated from their husbands and father
We were lethal shepherds in armor hurding the lambs into the slaughter
Still to this day when I close my eyes their screams become my ghost
Eight months inside the hole, I lost myself, I lost all of my hope
My dreams become a horror for my nightmares have now over filled
And from my cup and my eyes their blood will be poured and spilled
I look at a tattered picture of my own family back at home
But can not smile or remember or I too will come undone
Numb by design, programmed in fear, and not to feel
Compassion has left me alone, I am cold organic steel
Casualties of war are corpses I ran over in the valleys and the fields
Im a killing machine a 1014 an M16 are the swords that I weild
A modern day holocaust ordered to kill anything posing a threat
But when getting fired upon from a crowd its hard to identify a target
Lock and load Little Elvis once again it's time to kill
Weapons forged against us lay in the terrain and hides in the hills
RPG fires into defending walls as bullets fire screaming past my head
Machine gunners leveled that f@@#ing building while my comrades are laying dead
Adrenalin pumping fuels the plans for my next attack
Hot flashes of steel pierces my skin as shrapnel shreds through my flak 
People who were in prayer were no safer from their deaths
Bodies still burning, in pieces, or taking their final breath
Children run through my site with tears inside their innocent stripped eyes
She was no older than ten as she watched her little brother die
Deafened ears fall upon me, blood now is my fate 
Hell is abroad in this desolate God forsaken place 
Soldiers took trophy pictures of their faces with the dead
Who is the enemy I wonder, this doesn't make any sense
The boy who left home to become a man he never did come back
His soul still wanders the Tigris River lost forever to Combat

For all of my fallen friends, heroes, and families. You are always with me and will see you soon


Long poem by Denise Hopkins | Details |

JESUS WITH MY FAITH I SEND THIS PLEA

written 14th July 2013


My sorrow, is overwhelming my 'entire' soul
 for in my jaded life, my dear "Nath" would be the last breath taken away
Why does God, continue taking those that play the most 'critical' roll
 my life is 'never' going to endure, any hint of ease.. no way

Heart heavy, loss and pain all consuming me 'again'
 God, I plea with you leave me those that I 'love' these day's
It's become 'that' part of the year, my Nathan was taken due to 'my' curse
 tears flood my entire being, why do you always insist I live entirely 'alone'

Sorrow just in this year now at 'half point' has finally taken the 'full' toll
 I no longer see, any thing as my destiny that I shall 'exude'
When, will it 'ever' be my turn, I wait..to become the next called to heaven
 "am" I not worthy, of your abundant grace?

You, seem to take 'everyone' I 'entrust' to a faraway land
 Nathan Reide' these are my tears containing, the 'most sorrow' I've ever let fall
But, every memory of you and me, stop all of the pain
 just, another pain and despair to add to my life's endurance 'till'

I long, for peace, joy and 'any' kind of life would do me,
 at this point of my life, I can not take anymore, seriously, lighten up on me!
I fear in new friends, how long..before you conclude they too will end
 You bless me with a loving husband, mother, father, niece
 
When.. do you think you might, 'let' me see them... this  is my plea
 returning me back into church, I am in need off being blessed
How 'come' you did take that away from me? 
 faith, in me stayed 'strong' you alone know the extent

I need to move 'now' I have stayed still, and achieved what I think I was to 
 poet, I assume that was 'my reason' why you kept here
With that now in full swing
 can you now spread my wings

You are 'overpowering' my soul, and I now do as I am told
  patience, never was my best strength, have I 'not' proved to you
I'm completely at your mercy, you are the entity that drives the heart of me
 with all that, I need a break between all these sorrowful times, 'may I now move'

This is the deepest of despair, I have ever endured, please see me through
 I am more than 'positive' I WILL NOT make it through, another emotional trial
Not to be left here, still bleeding the way I still am...
 darkness has taking more of my light I'm loosing all sight, of who is me...

My heart full of anguish and grief, depression takes her advantage, of the ease
 I have nothing worth finding joy or enlightenment anyway, she will have me...
I don't have any strength to even consider the thought of even trying this time
 in defending myself against her this time
She only win's by default...

Denise Hopkins


Long poem by Fritz Purdum | Details |

Where do the Flowers go in Winter Part Three

             (continued from Where do the Flowers go in Winter Part Two)


All your father wanted was a son
And I gave him a son
Big strong boy-he was
But he died
And we had you to replace him
                                               You
                                                    you"

Damn her Soul!
Damn her Soul!
                       A child
                               Mommy I was but a child
Defenseless
                                Against her
Why did she hate me?
Why did my mother hate me?
She wouldn't give me a chance
Never did she hold me
Never did she kiss me
Never did she weep for me

                             "Seek Jesus!"
                                              She told me when I was ten
She became very religious
Whenever she wasn't at church
She took time off  to go to work
Her family was nonexistence to her
                Saving souls for Jesus
                Saving souls for Jesus


                                               "...it's okay to show emotions son
Even I shed a few tears for her"
I got up from the chair
I hugged my father
                           "Thanks Dad"

Weeks went by
           I am at her grave
           The tombstone
"A woman who loved everyone
                                             And who was loved by everyone"
She did not love me 
And I did not love her

The snow is gone now
It has yielded to grass of green
Birds sing in trees against skies of blue
Flowers, O yes
My mother and I loved flowers
Flowers all kinds of flowers
She favored roses
But I like irises
All my three sisters
                             Even my dead brother
They were born in Spring and Summer months
She called them her little blossoms
I was born the same month as she
       In Winter
       In January
No flowers, no birds to sing
Just snow, ice winds, cold
                                     Numbness
"Mother!"
          Where do the flowers go in winter?
           Why can't they bring you love then?
I feel to my knees
Against her tombstone
And I begin to weep
First one tear from the right eye
Suddenly two from the left eye
             Violently
                         I cried
                                  And cried
And cried
For no matter
                   No matter
That eternal spark of joy
                                   Burst into a flame of infinite sorrow
I knew   That Yes    I loved her
   I loved my mother.
                                     (the end)          


Long poem by Fritz Purdum | Details |

Where do the Flowers go in Winter Part Two

                            (continued from Where do the Flowers go in Winter  Part One)

We buried her today
                             In early March
Winter is almost over
The ground is hard
So was my heart
Everyone dressed in black
                           Black
                                  Why Black?
I wanted to wear
                         Well
                                                    Orange
                                                             Yes
                                                                 Orange
When I was eleven
I got a part in the school play
"Mom! Mom!  I'm going to be an Orange
Mom! an Orange!"
I got the part I'll need you to make my costume!"
                          "I don't have time
                              You're in my way
                                                       Go outside
You really don't want to be in the play
It's stupid
I don't want my son to play a fruit
                                                  a fruit
You want to be an Orange?  You're in the sixth grade
Big boys don't play oranges.  It's dumb
                                                         Your dumb
Tell Mrs. Wilson no.  Tell her no..."

They covered her up
I placed a white rose upon her grave
                 We went home.

No dinner
              I was hungry
But I could not bring myself to eat
For all others were in grief
I went into her room and sat in her chair
I listen through the walls,  words of sadness I hear
They told loving stories of this woman
How caring passionate kind she was
How she was an asset to the community
How well she raised her children
Three fine girls and a son

And a son
              How appropriate
Just
              And a son, not a fine son
How could he be a fine son?
She's been dead for four days
And not one drop of water has left his two eyes
My father placed his hand on my shoulder
"Son I know how hard your taking this..."

"I never wanted children!
                                    Your Father did
He told me he would adopt
                                       Adopt!
Good God rest my soul
So I consented
Three girls, a boy, then you
My family was complete
Four children.  You had a brother
If he didn't die.  If he was alive
I wouldn't of had you


                                (continued on Where do the Flowers go in Winter Part Three)





                                                   


                                        


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

A Thousand Dark Secrets

Carrying with me a
halfhearted smile for the
braver men than I.
The men holding tightly
to past perceptions,
live or die.
Suppose I whispered to 'em
what I've heard through
the metaphorical grapevines.
Suppose I lent a hand.
Would they take it as an opposition,
a criticism perhaps?
Carrying with me the burden of
a thousand dark secrets
and I can't even talk about it.

In the midst of a patriotic funeral.
In the midst of a best friend itching to climb
the first military branch he can find.
To join forces with the Yes Sir, No Sir mentality.
To ride shotgun with the
Everything You Tell Me is True assumption.

So what kinda inconsiderate bastard
does that make me to QUESTION it?

What exactly are we doing
when we label justifications
to the lapels of the handmade uniforms,
"I will fight for YOUR nation
with a willingness to lay down my life
for a higher cause."
Yeah, freedom isn't free,
but it for sure ain't what it used to be...

Before technology wrapped
it's all encompassing fingers
around society, indeed the tables were turned.
If hostile takeover was your ultimate goal
you didn't need hundreds of thousands of men
fighting for you with heart and soul.
With blades shining, horses galloping,
and sieges laying waste to the villages.
Because of our Lightning Bolt Communication,
and our undying trust for the Order of Things.
Because of our Technological Overkill,
and our eagerness to unravel
the Tapestries of Our Existence.
Because we climbed too damn far this time,
unaware and uncaring of what was Left Behind.
Yeah, you don't need massive armies for your hostile takeover.
Just a few precious people in key positions,
commanding the grunts below you,
with a single pinpointed destiny to DESTROY!
"Yes sir, no sir! We fight for the Good of Humanity, sir!"

But what in the world do I know?
Lacking field experience,
bathing in the never-ending shower
of omnipotence.

I still carry with me that halfhearted smile;
that relentless indifference for the men
living and dying for the sake of me.
For those that fight for a time way back when
that no longer exists.
I still meander through the metaphorical grapevines,
both craving and hating at what I might find.
Cause I know most won't comprehend it.
I'll be the Judge, the Critic and the Enemy.
I won't dare express such hopeless negativity.
I'll carry with me the burden
of a thousand dark secrets... cause no one is ready
to accept Truth's hand.
I'll keep it to myself and no one else because everyone knows....

I'm...

Too...

Young...

To...

Understand...


Long poem by John Arribas | Details |

WWI A HUNDRED YEARS LATER

WORLD WAR 1 ONE HUNDRED YEARS LATER 
(AMERICAN VERSION)
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS

<
PATRIOTIC SONGS GIVE US REASON TO CHEER
EXCEPT WHEN “OVER THERE” IS OVER HERE
LIVING UNDERGROUND IS NO PLACE TO CHERISH
CAUSE IN THIS PLACE , YOU COULD EASILY PERISH
YOU HUDDLE IN THE TRENCHES EACH DAY AT DAWN
THEN OVER THE TOP AT THE SOUND OF THE HORN


THE CHATTER OF MACHINE GUN FIRE SPILLS CROSS THE PLAIN
YOUR COMPANIONS ARE DROPPING SCREAMING WITH PAIN
YOU MOVE RAPIDLY AS YOUR PULSE RACES
ONLY A FOOL WOULD CROSS OPEN SPACES
AFTER THE CHARGE THERE ARE AGONIZING CRIES
FROM WOUNDED MEN SLOWLY LOSING THEIR LIVES


UNARMED MEDICS VENTURE INTO THE STRIFE
FEELING FOR PULSES SEARCHING FOR LIFE
COMMANDERS GAVE ORDERS FOR THIS TYPE OF FRAY
WE NEED TO GET BACK WHAT WE LOST YESTERDAY 
AND SO IT GOES SWAPPING LAND FOR MEN’S LIVES
WITH THIS KIND OF LUNACY NO ONE SURVIVES


NEITHER SIDE WILL CONSIDER THE OTHERS PETITION
THEY’D RATHER CONTINUE THIS SENSELESS ATTRITION
RIDDLED WITH BULLETS THEN DUMPED IN A TRENCH
NO TIME TO COLLECT NAME TAGS TOO ODOROUS THE STENCH
THIS YOUNG LIFE EXTINGUISHED AHEAD OF ITS TIME
HIS UNIFORM TARNISHED AND COVERED WITH LIME


A SENSELESS DEPLOYMENT OF EACH NATIONS BEST
THE REWARD FOR THEIR BRAVERY IS ETERNAL REST
LATER THAT DAY WHEN THEY CALL THE ROLL
FEW WILL BE THERE MAYBE NO ONE AT ALL
BACK HOME THEY’LL READ HIS NAME IN THE SQUARE
SOME WILL BE CRYING IN UTTER DESPAIR

WWI (2) AMER. VER.



THE GOVERNMENT BOASTS OF DAILY  ACHIEVEMENT
BUT IN MANY A HOME THERE IS ONLY BEREAVEMENT 
GALLANTRY AND SACRIFICE WAS WELL WORTH THE PRICE
CAUSE ON NOVEMBER ELEVENTH ALL WILL BE NICE
AN EQUITABLE ARMISTICE WILL TRULY INSURE
THAT NO FURTHER CARNAGE THE WORLD MUST  ENDURE


MISSION ACCOMPLISHED MEDALS GALORE
CAUSE WE FOUGHT THE WAR “TO END ALL WAR
THE GENERALS ALL FLUSH WITH THEIR NEW FOUND FAME
WERE EATING THEIR TRUFFLES AND DRINKING CHAMPAGNE
THE LONELY SOLDIER STILL IN ONE PIECE (SO IT SEEMS)
TRUDGED THROUGH THE MUD SEEKING RELIEF


THE WAR WAS OVER A TIME TO REJOICE
YET IN HIS SOUL AN UNANSWERED VOICE  
THE PAIN AND THE FRIGHT HE HAD TO SUSTAIN
THE HORRORS OF WAR WERE SURE TO REMAIN
THEN ON THAT DAY WHEN HIS LIFE CLOSES
 PUT A FLAG ON HIS COFFIN AND SCATTER SOME ROSES


THEY’LL PRAISE HIS SERVICE TO THE LAND OF THE FREE
AWARD HIM A MEDAL GRANTED POSTHUMOUSLY
DEATH AND DESTRUCTION WILL HAPPEN NO MORE
CAUSE HE FOUGHT THE WAR “ TO END ALL WAR”


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Long Poems