People create war
Populations destroyed
Some power play
Categories:
battlecry, war,
Form: Free verse
Offering from the ill departed, sweat and blood
ambition, aspiration, all scattered to dust
Those deadly fangs, death might be the ultimate price
inevitable in the name of country's pride
By the thousands, mere nightmares are condemned for life
bullet showers, raining behind enemy lines
Each spit, venom from the cavernous depths of blight
Each tear, a fallen comrade, self worth sacrifice
As for the living, those surviving chosen few
with deep wounds and battle scars as spoils from the war
so tainted that light turns into darkness in lieu
an open book that each and every one took part
When the time comes ripe enough as a coup de grace
relics from thoughts topped with chaos and mayhem
branches of outstretched paths and devouring facade
witnessed only by yesterday's ghosts with fate's whim
A snappy salute under patriotic oath
loyal to what represents three stars and a sun
a pact that nobody can divulge its own growth
on which, a tribute for the next generation
For the love of God, my family, countrymen
the very foundation of this striving nation
those who lost their lives, we do vow in silence
praying for those who stands for justice and freedom
Categories:
battlecry, courage, dedication, soldier,
Form: Free verse
BattleCry
So stirs the hearts of all, in great delight,
to raise a banner high, the march of fate;
to lead the way, where only dark of night,
might find a way to quench the thirst for hate;
Determined, each is blest to heed the call,
of self appointed leaders of the day,
the good, the bad, the dead, but butchers all,
one crowned in light, the others in decay!
To follow is the way, if wrong or right,
determined by the one who stands at last,
we glow in judgement as if Heaven might
just comprehend the end that binds us fast.
and when we see it come around once more,
all wonder is what leads us on to war?
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Categories:
battlecry, hate, truth, war,
Form: Sonnet
i will stand above the industry
hold, surpass all infantry
ride into my battles
on a chariot of gold
rising to the gilded plain
racing through the pouring rain
holing up my mother's flag
a country lost and cold
pausing not to catch my breath
give me liberty or give me death
take me to the motherland-
my story must be told!
Categories:
battlecry, courage, me, me,
Form: Ballad