War March
The rivers run red from the slain.
Young men fighting and dying in vain.
Bursts of fire, light and sound,
The officers bark orders, they hound.
The rhythmic marching of soldiers feet echo.
Traveling through the jungle, their heads kept low.
A village, rural and calm.
Burnt to the ground.
Nothing but ash in palm.
Innocent lives lost, mothers cry.
Homes broken, fathers die.
All they wonder, is why?
The rivers run red from the slain.
Young men fighting and dying in vain.
A foul odor fills the air.
War and love, is all fair?
The campiagn marches dutifully on.
Seizing land, all humanity gone.
A town, fruitful and warm.
Trashed and destroyed.
Soldiers devour, like a swarm.
Businesses bankrupt.
Men, corrupt.
Tempers, erupt.
The rivers run red from the slain.
Young men fighting and dying in vain.
The war march goes on into the night.
Ten thousand men descend, what a sight!
The enemy fortress, just a days' walk away.
Generals celebrate, victims pray.
A city, Plentiful and bright.
Blown to pieces.
They know this isn't right.
Bricks tumble and fall.
Breaking the fortress' wall.
The soldiers fierce and tall.
The rivers run red from the slain.
Young men fighting and dying in vain.
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