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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required My father marched gung-ho towards anarchy, Many friends by his side fell before the end, They died brave in the face of danger and sin, Their memories erased buried in mud blend. The men went to their deaths leaving hell behind, For the battle forged on brutally through cold, And bitter winds, which bore down on them assigned, From whence my father was delivered quite bold. Thus he survived the futile carnage of war, All the same the experience left him ill, Having been subjected to hell's thoughtless whore, Serving one master, with flashes of free will. She wrought on the unstoppable panzer rage, And crushed weary battalions in her path, Where orders from Berlin were to foe engage, Hence they fell parallel into mire and wrath. While, for terror they gave in to cruel madness, Raping corpses where they lay in utter waste, Spurred on by the pledged horror of their obsess, Arched in tragic throes without bridges of haste. Wisely thence my father sought to flee the doom, As every sin was committed to stay sound, Tho' for many it was through and through in gloom, And there they were, rotting in the mushy ground. Death had arrogated them quite suddenly, Without warning, and brutally sacrificed, They therefore left this world to dogs tragically, Where its thus manifested rage so advanced. My father was there, crying for some true faith, Did he find it? None knows for sure his resolve, But for the fact the past haunted him its wraith, Turning the cursed war he fought into his helve. And his children suffered as he relived hell, With many cruel whippings unleashed onto them, I tell this story 'cause war cannot be swell, It is so maligned, that which all must condemn.
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