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Kelvin Harold. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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my gun my pain
As we elope with our faith into the avenue of death,
And looking at our fellow comrades for the very last time.
Where our fears becomes our trail to faith.
We erupt an anger that was not meant to be and stealing every thought that can issue in the rage that was in a cage.
At that moment even the brave knows he has a grave.
Our greatest fear becomes the element of surprise .
When we hear the gun-shots out thoughts be-guile our anxiety into a comer of fear.
We now fight not because of the war but to survive in the war.
We feel that we are fair men when we give justice while forming ashes.
But we are crippled in the arrogance of our ignorance feeling that for every blood spilled and tears that tilled the earth makes our quest fulfilled.
We loose focus because there are certain kills that makes us humble.
Because our brains and minds becomes the avenue of roaming thoughts and images of the victory of tears we created.
My eyes twinkles in grumbling of the sites I beheld and paves way for the tears I despise but yet resides in me.
The joy of every soldier is to win wars and come back home alive.
But in the ambient of our joy comes the tears of our loss.
As we celebrate, we depreciate in agony and tears of wishes of our fellow comrades.
At the end we get medals for killing our own soul.
But to the duke of time I rest my unfulfilled soul to be humbled in tears while I grumble in silence.