Who knows who are the casualties of war?
Are they the wounded, maimed, and all the dead?
Who counts the orphans, widows, those displaced?
The untold truth, a light on this can shed
I also am a casualty of war
My soul is wounded by the grief I see
The war is raging here inside my head
I am held hostage, longing to be free
Survivor guilt is ravaging my nights
The blast of bombs, a morbid wake up call
Though I'm alive, I feel so dead inside
Like those cut down by hate, I take a fall
Destructor's cravings are insatiable
The sites destroyed include those of my mind
My tears pour down with that of martyrs' blood
Like refugees, a haven I must find
A lesser casualty, yet I am one
This war is altering my very soul
I am ashamed to claim a numbered place,
Yet war affects the country as a whole
Aggressors will not stop their killing spree
The toll of death goes higher every day
Who counts the living dead, devoid of hope?
The shroud awaits the ones this war will slay
These casualties of war exceed belief,
and trauma rages on without relief
Hear the thunder sound
See the rockets soar
Victims on the ground
Casualties of war
Death from overhead
Panic in the streets
Thousands have been bled
History repeats
Today is May the 30th and it's Memorial Day.
Americans are paying tribute to those who fought and died for the USA.
116,516 American soldiers died during World War I.
They died while fighting the enemy with their guns.
405,399 American soldiers died during World War II.
When I say that many have died for the USA, it's true.
58,220 American soldiers died while they fought in Vietnam.
Hundreds of thousands of soldiers have died for Uncle Sam.
The casualties were far less during the Persian Gulf War, only 219 Americans perished.
Many men fought and died in the face of danger because America is what they cherished.
(I dedicate this poem to those who fought and died for the USA)
The war crimes in Ukraine
Is a monstrosity
It's the devil at work
The piper must be paid
A despot gone berserk
The war crimes in Ukraine
Is far beyond the pale
What was Putin thinking?
He miscalculated
Troops he deployed, shrinking
The war crimes in Ukraine
Is watched the world over
It's hard to look away
Dead bodies on the ground;
Soon they'll start to decay
The war crimes in Ukraine
Can be called genocide
Awful truth came to light,
Absolutely shocking
Russia will lose this fight
Form M - Monchielle - New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Theme chosen: Death
Syllables checked at HMS
Date written: 04/06/2022
Creepy keepers of cold covenants casualties cordially calming down ~
12/29/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
Soldier.
Called then, to duty,
I stood before my brothers,
urging them to war
T'were boys I led to battle
and I drift now among you
dead as well, save grim valor
and brutal resolution
March 22, 2019
Duress and death and flies persist
but I can't rest, or I won't rise
While on I press, relays of mist
that graze beside me now and then,
make red my dead and distant eyes
but raise my listing head again
Unhinged, ashamed, yet still servile,
I aim and brave men atomize
to ginger haze around me, while
ghosts and grenades fill the skies...
Casualties of war
Godlike? No. Human? Maybe.
Yet living above the bones of dead babies.
Who fell to their deaths from the top of the world,
The forgotten, the miscarried, the unfortunate boys and girls.
Now the babies lie with bullets,
Sanctity no longer exists.
Once upon a time, we were all for it,
Now we just wish this war would cease.
Fire! Called the Sergeant as the Gerry’s advanced.
Onward called the General, as the men became entrenched,
In the trenches and fell to their knees;
Some preyed to the lord above, others fell down silently.
Many days and many nights had come to pass
And still ol’ Blighty was under attack.
Churchill’s calls, spurred on a nation;
Whilst mothers and babies, were simply seeking salvation.
The babies cried, as the explosions filled the skies;
The poor boys tardiness, meant he had to find somewhere to hide
And pray he wasn’t killed by the bombs or the bullets.
Just hoping not to die in a watery grave.
For all that’s left in the bottom of your rivers,
Is babies bones and war souvenirs
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Walk with pride, with your head held high
Conflict and war is not your fault
Face turns away whilst tears you cry.
You can't understand this, who knows why,
When will all these emotions finally halt
Walk with pride, with your head held high
You were called to fight to kill or die
Highly trained killer with senses taut
Face turns away whilst tears you cry
No moral standard on which you can rely
You're own conscience now begins its assault
Walk with pride with your head held high
Time for your memories to heal that’s why
You need a guilt free mind no more bad thoughts
Face turns away whilst tears you cry
A certain sense of pride you cannot deny
Your own existence you begin to exalt
Walk with pride, with your head held high
Face turns away whilst tears you cry.
Penned by Wayland Bunch and Seren Roberts on 5 April 2014
I am standing in peat.
The war drags on.
The dirt is raw,
squirting on to fingernails
turning them blue.
Who was running away
from hinges ?
The genital warts were
spreading. The cold facts will
wear casuistry. The train
derails. Only the earth
is hurt.
Dreams cannot close the
wounds. You want to go
where the jungle is. Teeth
are broken. Eyes
become the house for ants.
Satish Verma
Casualties of Love
Check the victims report
Broken hearts, pain, ice cold
Check the newswire
Filled with heartbreak, desire
Walk away, never look back
That’s how it’s done, no emotion
Don’t forget to look in the mirror
It’s a reflection of your life
The vultures gather
For the great feast of the Lord.
Buzzards are circling...
What adjectives can't describe.
When metaphors can't paint a picture.
Some turn to their liquid courage.
Others quote the scripture.
You insinuate that I'm not worth your time.
That I make you sick.
Know this!
You're absolutely right, I'm a prick
Made that way brick by brick
by those who have no soul
Those who only want control
By those who only pump self serve
I pity You.
I can honestly say that I meant every word.
How do I handle my demons, you ask?
I keep them on a choke chain out back.
only to break loose, run free
And be adopted by some other poor man
whose punishment doesn't fit his crime
The point of this is to say that I wasn't defeated.
That you didn't win.
However the odds are in my favor.
That this scenario will be repeated.
With another.
Attachment, not love
You are my brother.
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