Best Historydeath Poems
He had do fight all odds
A man of unbreakable idealism
Alone with his ideas
A mysterious death at high sea
The truth will never be known
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Gegen alle Widerstände
Ein Mann mit ungebrochenem Idealismus
Alleine mit seinen Ideen
Mysteriöser Tod auf hoher Sea
Die Wahrheit wird niemand erfahren
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En lucha contra todas probabilidades
Un hombre de idealismo irrompible
Solo con sus ideas
Una muerte misteriosa en alta mar
La verdad nunca será conocida
Note: Rudolf Christian Karl Diesel, 1858-1913, was a German engineer and the inventor of
the Diesel engine. He spent his youth until 1870 in Paris and surroundings. When being
extradited after the start of the German-French-War in 1870, Diesel and his family left for
London. He as a child travelled alone to Augsburg, Germany were he lived for five years
with his uncle and went to school there. He started studies of mechanical engineering in
1875 in Munich and applied for a patent of a „New and economical power engine“ at the
Emperial Patent-Office in Berlin. From 1908 on he developed the first functional model of
his engine with the financial assistance of the Krupp company. In January 1898 the first
factory for Diesel engines was built in Augsburg, Germany. A Diesel Engine Company was
inaugurated by autumn 1900 in London. The first motor vessels with a Diesel engine were
built in 1903. Diesel was at a state of bad health due to numerous patent-lawsuits. He was
not a good businessman and lost his complete fortune. On September 29th Diesel boarded the
mail-vessel Dresden to cross the Channel for Harwich to participate in a meeting of the
„Consolidated Diesel Manufacturing Ltd.“ in London. He seemed to be in a good manner when
he was last seen on board of the ship. On October 10th 1913 the crew of a Dutch
government pilot ship saw a body drifting in the water at heavy sea. As the body was
highly decomposed, the crew only got hold of some personal belongings (a pastille box,
purse, pocket knife and a spectacle case) which were later identified as Diesel's
belongings by his son Eugen. The real cause of his death was never clarified and his
dependants never believed in suicide, but in murder to steal Diesel's ideas. So his death
is still remains a mystery.
We rode into Nacogdoches, with our pistols and our Bowie knives,
Volunteers for Texas—we came to risk our lives.
Some of us had families, and others, just the memory,
And some of us they didn’t hardly miss in Kentucky and in Tennessee.
Some of us came for adventure, and others, we came for land;
But at the Alamo down in San Antone we made our last stand.
Some called it glory and some called it greed, and some they called it “Liberty.”
But mostly they called it the Lone Star Republic—so Texas could be free.
But freedom was the death of me.
Colonel Bowie from Louisiana, with a big knife at his side,
He got drunk ‘most every day, but he was sober when he died.
Colonel Travis from Alabama, commander of the Alamo,
He answered Santa Ana with a cannon shot, and he let the world know.
Colonel Crockett, he was laughing—with his men he held the wall.
But the Mexicans, they overcame them, and you know they killed them all.
And the Mexicans kept coming, everyone of them was brave,
But they turned the mission of the Alamo into a heroes’ grave.
Susannah Dickinson, a lady from Tennessee—
Her husband died across his cannon, but Santa Ana let her go free,
With her little girl, she went free.
Santa Ana he grew careless; Sam Houston he laid in wait
Down on the San Jacinto River--Santa Ana met his fate.
Now the tourists load their cameras, in a San Antone motel,
And they buy postcards and they suck on snow-cones, and they stand right where I fell.
Some called it glory and some called it greed, and some they called it “Liberty.”
But mostly they called it the Lone Star Republic, so Texas could be free.
And freedom was the death of me.
1861
Dust rises from the rutted road. Cannon laden caissons rumble slowly forward. A red sun competing with the campfires glow. Weary troops break camp, joining the ranks of
colleagues on the move. An enemy, unseen, lays before them, waiting to exact a deadly blow.
Bellowed orders cut through the hushed encampment, bugles sound, urgency pervades. Battle lines are drawn, men marching, resolve and fear etched upon their hearts.
Artillery from behind sing the opening anthem. Flashes on the horizon acknowledging their song. In quickstep they press toward the waiting army, searching til they face the long gray line.
A fusillade rips through the forward soldiers, leaving death and carnage in its wake. A
row of men drop in lines of destruction, their cries of pain soon muted by the battles call.
Panicked faces seek cover as their Captains, yell and threaten, urging them on.
Deadly canister screams overhead, delivering their fingers of death, Fragments of life left littering the field. “Close ranks” the Captain cries. “Rally round the colors.” In the
face of death the army presses onward, drummer boys beating cadence on their drums.
Smoke and bodies soon consume the landscape, fragments of lives lost, attesting to the
horrors of the day. On and on the contest rages. Giving, taking, winning, losing, dying.
Until welcome darkness cloaks the field of battle, forcing war to take a short respite
In darkened fields, litter bearers rummage through a broken army. Seeking those whose ravaged bodies won’t surrender, selecting those who might still have a chance.
Hot tears run down the face of hardened soldiers, gripped by a mix of anger, fear and
sorrow. Mourning for the sons and brothers taken. Respecting those that they must leave behind.
Unknown to them this is but a beginning. A scene to be replayed so many times. Our
nation would become a blood soaked homeland. Each side sure that they were on His side.
Time would leave its scars upon our nation. Destroying in an effort to unite. A terrible
price would be exacted. With the lives of many men it would be paid
The War Between The States officially ended April 9, 1865. The conflict cost 624000 lives.