Get Your Premium Membership

Thistle and steel

The heather weeps, a purple bruise, Across the glens, the chilling news. No bagpipes drone a mournful sound, But sirens wail on hallowed ground. A thistle bleeds, its prickling crown, As innocence is stricken down. Young eyes, once bright with Highland fire, Now gleam with something dark and dire. The steel they flash, a twisted boast, A stolen childhood, dearly lost. Each shadowed lane, a whispered fear, Of blades that gleam and futures near, Consumed by rage, a hollow pride, Where youthful dreams have gone to hide. Parents clutch, with hearts ablaze, Afraid to loose in this iron maze. The ancient stones, they stand and stare, At broken vows and whispered prayer. Can Scotland rise, her spirit mend, And teach these children how to bend, The steel to craft, the hands to heal, And learn the wounds are truly real? To trade the blade for open hand, And reclaim peace within the land.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Date: 5/9/2025 11:55:00 PM
Thanks for sharing this... exposing your thoughts through your unique poetic style. Welcome to Poetry Soup. I welcome you with the love of the Lord, expressed by John 3:16 of the Bible, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Be blessed.
Login to Reply

Book: Reflection on the Important Things