War Betrayal Poems | Examples
These War Betrayal poems are examples of Betrayal poems about War. These are the best examples of Betrayal War poems written by international poets.
Background B.B King it
You'll get home alone
A Quartering as Jazz
As quart and liter
As meter and mile
Footage and reconcile
Irish Quartermasters Gaurd
Kevin J. O'Meadhra
Trace as feather
Low of ash
Bury of quill
Fide et amore
Nightingales Ergo
Send in rot
Further, borrow
Scottish wreathing
Entangled Britain
Relent
They of leave
Twined as lecture
Recital of yellow
Beckon brown
Revile of green
Tustled hearth
Baby babysit looks like
It's gonna hail
Jump and jive
As sent to the SAG
In tawdry spent
The war is lent
The establishment of thy own
A hate filled thrown
As crimes as thine
Tinkle and toast
In a entire
Only as pure
The picture as haunt
Plagiarism
Stores front
Sufferer as complaint
In stilled poverty
I law
Joan had little art
Lythed command
Hinde weeps rather as waltz
Herculean task
Wardrobe mantle black
Opening Suggestion of Betrothed
A small war
At the outskirt of Europe, a war
has broken out in countries where everyone drives Lada
mothers interviewed are proud of their sons
defending their land.
Should one son die, a big picture will appear in the living room
neighbors invited to coffee and cakes
his proud mother will tell what a good boy he was
and he died with honor.
I suppose in Nazi Germany, mothers said the same
until there were no sons left.
There will be peace, and everyone will claim victory
life will go on among the semi-literary people
who are doomed to live among high mountains and not learning
from past mistakes
you have something to tell me
before afterglow
because I have a man’s feelings
you can’t buy it from me
that even they can’t hear
you will find me
still emerging
from a seed husk
in the throes of
a street war
I want to hear
Written: August 14, 2025 for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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The wind remembers what I tried to forget—
a voice in the fire, a name in the rain.
I stood on the edge of the world I had built,
watching it crumble, stone by pain.
The dragon I drove was born from fire,
It flew through the dusk of my silent revolt,
chasing the ghosts I could never tame,
Its claws were echoes, and its air was dire.
I cast off the armor, I buried the sword,
but the war in my chest would not cease.
Each heartbeat is a drum, each silence a scream,
each tear a fragment of peace.
The sky opened wide as a wound in the soul,
And I leapt with no promise of ground.
The dragon dissolved into vapor and song,
And I fell where no chains could be found.
Now I walk through the ashes with wings of my own,
not golden, not whole—but free.
And the tears of the dragon still fall in my dreams,
But they no longer belong to me.
In moonlight's hush, beneath the elm,
A masked marauder stalks his realm.
With paws like whispers, eyes like coal,
He seeks the prize that fills his soul.
But lo! The bin—his ancient foe—
Stands smug, unyielding, sealed in woe.
Its lid, a tyrant, cold and tight,
Dares mock his hunger in the night.
"Have you forgotten?" he snarls with grace,
"The feast we shared, the sacred place?
You fed me once, you knew my name,
Now plastic locks deny my claim."
He leaps! He claws! A ballet grim,
A pirouette on garbage rim.
Banana peels and coffee grounds
Rain down like war drums' hollow sounds.
Neighbors wake to chaos born,
A furry tempest, rage and scorn.
Yet in his heart, a deeper ache—
Not trash, but trust, was theirs to break.
So if you see him, tail askew,
A poet wrapped in dumpster dew,
Know vengeance drives his nightly plan—
The raccoon scorned by a trash can.
Blurred Realities Cryptic, Faded, Vague.
Questionable behaviors are they mere fantasies ?
No one is perfect, inhale, exhale.
I finally accepted I'm not anyone's favorite person.
People may routinely tell me what's best for me
And pretend they care when their actions don't
match their words.
Living someone else's reality became distorted
At the battlefield of this mental war.
Oftentimes fatiguing to consume these decisions to
over-ride this reflectiveness of My Blurred Realities.
Nothing good ever came out of hell
we all can see the enemy works on people's fear
The fruits of disaster has been sewn into those consenting
freedom has the choice to move without restraints attached
removal of these rights has turned the system of law upside down
passing laws that amount to curfew status in a time of war
dictators that close down all opposition and homegrown truths
The twisted tongues of oppression manipulate words forked
a new breed of public figures emerge justifying murder
control the masses and you have an army defending the deceiver
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
Red eyes might grow tough to handle mettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Finger might flip up hints to pure deceit,
Somewhat so close to Cain's stunt on Abel;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Alcohol could have actualised such treat,
Upon rage within, ever unsettle...
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
Lust to blood; love to ruin, brace up stunt's cheat-
Cain focused off change, hope cares to settle...
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat.
Now, regret locks up an endless defeat...
Upon bloody sin, Cain-Abel nettle;
Soft heart can tell the silent dark sky's heat,
That Is how small the mind could be to beat.
The Call to War or False Promises
They spoke of honor carved in stone,
Of glory waving from a hill.
They lit the torch, then threw us in,
And called the burning “noble will.”
They draped their lies in marching drums,
And wrote our names on gilded scrolls,
But none could see, beneath the hymns,
The hunger swallowing our souls.
She comes not with love,
but with the scent of forgotten gods—
lilac laced with sorrow,
laughter hiding the abyss.
Her eyes do not see you,
they scan—
for cracks in your crown,
for wounds you wear like medals.
She knows you long to be seen—
so she becomes the mirror.
Reflects your power,
until it is hers.
She offers no war,
only surrender.
No blade,
only velvet ropes of praise.
You give her your fire
for a kiss that chills.
Your purpose, for a smile
that vanishes at dawn.
She does not need to conquer you—
you do it for her.
In the name of "love,"
you burn your kingdom down.
But she fears the one who sees.
The man who hears the whisper
beneath the moan,
the silence behind the scream.
He cannot be bought with beauty,
nor caged by need.
He names the mask,
and breaks the spell.
And she—
now powerless—
must return to shadow,
awaiting another crown to steal.
Excalibur
The sword was held aloft by the lady of the lake
She said only the mightiest of men shall wield its strength
Only those true of virtue
Only those planted firmly in their moral conviction
She called it Excalibur because she knew it could cause harm
The "Deep Cleft" it could leave gave it it's name
It was an instrument coined in hurt,
It was granted only to defend,
Yet it waged wars and leveled kingdoms.
Excalibur is a contradiction.
King Arthur should have been good.
Our man of virtue sent infants to sea to die;
He gave into his rage;
He lacked loyalty to his queen.
The lady of the Lake believed in him too much.
She thought that virtue would survive a mans power.
She believed he would hold his morals over manipulation.
The lady of the Lake should have kept Excalibur in her grasp.
Not even the mightiest of men can wield its power.
The inability to succumb to the nefariousness that comes with power;
The incapacity to choose your children over a war.
A woman should have wielded Excalibur.
Steel bars whisper cold truths at night,
A jungle of killers, no room for fright.
Survival ain't luck, it's blood and bone,
Earn your name or die unknown.
Respect ain't given, it's taken in war,
A blade in the dark, a fist to the jaw.
Weakness is death, don’t flinch, don’t fold,
Only the ruthless make it old.
No second chances, no rewind, no grace,
One wrong move, they’ll rearrange your face.
Ain’t no nine lives, just one shot to last,
Make it count or fade fast.
The yard’s a battlefield, the rules are clear,
Stand your ground, show no fear.
If it goes down, handle your biz,
Ain’t no mercy where killers live.
Every step’s a test, every glance a threat,
A life of war, no time for regret.
You bang with the hardest, you earn your place,
Or get erased without a trace.
Chains don’t break, they only weigh,
A lifetime lost, but dues to pay.
You either rise or rot away,
In the penitentiary, where demons play.
If Satan had said sorry
My hunger wouldn’t haunt me daily
I’d breathe in peace
And sleep without the weight of worry.
But pride made him defiant
He traded my hope for his ego
Now I walk through life unknown
With doubt as my shadow.
If Satan had said sorry
Maybe God would still feel near
And grace wouldn’t hang from a cross
Paid in blood to drown my fear.
Now I carry the weight of a war
That I was never meant to fight
Owing a debt I didn’t incur
Chasing dawn through endless night.
Silence isn’t quiet —
it’s the scream stuck in my throat,
the venom dripping from broken teeth,
the promise shattered on cracked floors.
Your silence is a fist
beating against my ribs,
each unanswered breath a knife twisting deeper,
a war waging beneath broken skin.
I claw at shadows
grasping ghosts that slip through bleeding fingers,
love drowned in the dark,
where silence is a battlefield
and nothing survives.
This is a season for peace but
not where the war rages,
not as our country men die,
not as the grill burns human
flesh and the sky rains ash.
My dear friends,
do not tire out as the bombs drop,
As the gangs plunder,
our babies starve,
and friends go missing.
As the water dries out,
as the chasm widens,
when moon shows no light
and the early bird has no song,
keep moving onward.