Notes About The Poem
Photo taken Sunday Oct 22, 2017 Notre Dame
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The Firing Squad
Soldiers marched, upright and ready
Bayonet's pointed, their hand at the steady
The town folk feared what was at hand
They were simple folks, working the land
The soldiers carted away those who could work
On trains they went, when finished, into the earth
Others though not in working order
Faced a certain death, in weather getting colder
Hey you in the wheel chair?
What's your name?
Darren Sir, I am a poet of fame
Well lad, follow me, is your end game
Hey you who hobbles along?
What's your name?
Seren Sir, I am a painter of fame
Wee lady, soon you shall be one dead dame
Hey you, walking in your dreams?
What's your name?
Arthur sir, a man who now is lame
Get in line with the others the soldier proclaimed
Off we went to the edge of the town
Each with fear in our hearts and eyes piercing like darts
We knew the fate that had landed us together
A poet , an Artist and a dead philosopher
The firing squad you see, cared not our valor
We three were blindfolded and tied up to large trees
As the rifles were loaded and the orders given
A voice from the heavens said they wont be forgiven
The lieutenant in his fancy dress uniform
Yelled out, at the ready, the bullets soon to storm
A silence filled the void, but only for a moment
Fire he said, as three dead villagers fell, lives stolen
Darren, Seren, and Arthur, ended up in heaven, where every day, they lived in a beautiful garden, with not only beautiful flowers, but an open bar, and all you can eat buffet, Darren now runs free. Seren now has 2 new knees, every month, for eternity, and happily runs Marathons along with Darren. Arthur sits at the bar in the garden, while sipping his rum and cokes, absolutely amazed, as he chats with the bar tender, Tim Smith.
Notes: This was inspired by Serens comments from PoetrySoupChat in which she said, they should shoot us both, dues to the recent pain and suffering. ( she had a knee operation ) Darren has gone through multiple operations recently, and I am amazed at this strength and positive attitude towards others even in his darkest moments.
There is no good suffering, whether it be physical, emotional, depression, and the only thing I can think of is to laugh, as laughter at least brings smiles and maybe a wee bit of solace. I mentioned Tim, because he too recently went through knee surgery, so he knows the pain, I simply could not kill him in this poem, as then who would be the bartender?
This made people smile, that's all the counts for me, and I wish to assure you no poets here actually shot in the making of this poem!
I hope the music, represents in a more serious way, the suffering of pain, in any way it should manifest itself.
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