Long Battlefield Poems
Long Battlefield Poems. Below are the most popular long Battlefield by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Battlefield poems by poem length and keyword.
I knew that I'd seen your face before but could not remember where or when?
Something in your eyes made my spine react, made my mind's eye see around the bend
I knew that I'd heard your voice before in some other place, sometime somewhere
Years have gone by so fast so I find it hard to recall the exact moment when we met
But then you shake my hand and tell me where we met all those years before!
Dumbfounded, lost, speechless I am now as my memory recalls
I have to sit down before I fall upon my knees!
Yes, I remember now the blood and mist upon the bare winter trees
I force myself to stand and look you in the eye to confirm our shared history
Two hundred years ago today...........
I killed you on that battlefield the same time that you killed me.
22/3/2017
The sharp, silent clang of light on dark,
the subtle infiltration into the enemy,
another bright arrow hits its mark,
dissolving stars into transparency.
The bright flash of orange, the glimpse of red,
the armor of the good and right,
sensing a loss with impending dread,
desertion thins the ranks of night.
The final soldier of dark is all that stands,
the crescent of the nocturnal moon,
retreating slowly across the lands,
he knows his end, he feels his doom.
The battlefield sky is swept clean again,
the light, hopeful for a bright clean day;
the sun wishes for what might have been,
as humanity throws the brightness away.
The sun then falls back toward the ground,
the darkness once more takes control;
the protectors of light, where they may be found,
watch for sunrise, accepting their role.
As I walk to the coffee wifi place, I dreaming away,
first there was this cloud of dust giving reasons to sway.
The white light underneath the cloud, or in it,
ragging a furious battle by men yelling quite a bit.
The clouds are gone, and memories reveal a battlefield,
observing the pain from blood at swords and shield.
Being the knower of a keener steel,
timeless observation, inherit keen.
The dance of swords has its prophesying catch,
for foes to be hemmed to the battles edge.
The tension changed on the field,
many creep away, making this victory sealed.
The king son wounded but in good spirit,
step’s forward to take the lead.
The kingdom is saved, and my favorite table is free,
the lady brings a coffee with a heart foaming, just for me.
A lover
Not a fighter
Excuse me, I rephrase...
He does fight, not literally
But for a love
He used to call his own
His gentle hands
Has never held a rifle
for there's only love
In his searching eyes;
Eyes that have never seen
The ravages of war
He wages a battle
In love's battlefield
A love once his
Now someone else's
A white flag of surrender
He'll never wave
Until he captures again
His former lover's heart.
Date written: 08/29/2001
Hard work and success go together,
As a human being, we are recognized with awards and honors,
But there are many creatures in the world,
Those who work very hard, never recognized, but achieve their goals.
The ants, with their tiny bodies and mighty strength,
Toil tirelessly, hoping they will never lose,
They carry burdens, marching in a line,
Their unwavering spirit, a divine inspiration.
The bees, gather nectar, a task they willingly bear,
Their hard work is not in vain, those who try never lose,
They build their hive with precision and care,
Their unity and diligence, a lesson we can share.
And amidst the forest, the mighty beavers reside,
Building dams and homes with unwavering pride.
Their hard work and perseverance, a testament true,
That with determination, there's nothing we can't do.
Failure is a challenge, accept it,
See what is missing and improve it,
Unless you succeed, give up your peaceful sleep,
Don’t run away from the battlefield of struggle,
There is no glory without doing something,
Those who try never lose.
You may have never heard of Clausewitz,
But you’ll hear of wars and rumors of wars
Via propaganda, gossip, and disinformation.
You’ll witness the struggle through a drinking straw.
Explosions will drown out the voice of truth.
Whispered atrocities spread fear out of context.
False flags cast suspicions meant to weaken morale.
Psyops sow confusion and mistrust of the media.
But modern technology and open-source intel
Can peer through the haze on the battlefield.
It counters misdirection and stiffens our spine
To prosecute our campaign against tyranny.
We have the capability of piercing the mist
Sufficient for encouraging our will to resist.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
MATTHEW 24: 6 AND SYNTHETIC APERTURE RADAR
Letting go
Have you ever felt yourself holding back all those feelings? Where you just want to shout them from the roof tops.
Until everyone hears.
The pain, the agony the torture of letting someone who is worth more than money, worth more than treasure and worth so much more than gold go is the hardest thing in the world!
I remember when we first met. Your eyes stared perfectly into mine, it was a wish come true. I remember all the laughter all the fighting and each little bit of happiness your love and company made. I was the happiest, I felt loved and I felt honored.
The word war. Soon took over, the word war poisoned your precious brain, the word war captured you like a spider captures a fly on a web.
War arrived.
I spent the last day with you doing the same usual tucked up in our luxury soon to be changed for a filthy battlefield filled with other poisoned brains lying dead on the ground. I treasured each second I had with you. I hoped it wouldn't be our last.
Early morning I laid out your uniform. I felt guilty.
I could not stop you from endangering your life.
I wanted to run away with you. Anywhere without war. I would've happily escaped to save your freedom. You meant so much to me, you still do now . How I'd love to see your face.
Oh how I regret holding back those feelings, the pain the agony the torture still kills me a little more inside each time the sun will rise.
From the day you said goodbye.
I could do nothing but cry.
Each day I would prey.
When you are back I want you to stay.
Goodnight my solider,
I love you more and more each day.
Form:
There is an ongoing battle that
Remains in humanities heart.
Where truth is often hidden,
And obscured from the start.
The written and spoken word,
Become lost clouds to memory.
As storms move about
With their heavy artillery.
This conflict involves everyone,
Both today and in the past.
Since mankind produces soldiers,
Without rank or caste.
Ultimately, the battlefield
Looks to reality and truth.
That passes on to a future,
And then to our youth.
At times, it might resemble,
A siege to be endured.
Where the fortress keep is opened,
Leaving nothing obscured.
Here, the contest is restated,
With a victory to reflect.
Upon the historic ledger,
Creating new ways to perfect.
Hope is sought to further question,
The false faith offered before.
As roots of new thought begin and emerge,
With fresh dialogue no one can ignore.
We wrap our wounds in any kind of rag
Till we can make it off the battlefield
We walk for hours till we fall to the ground
To harsh fear and weakness, we must yield
Some dare not remove the dirty cloth
Afraid of what confronts their nervous eye
Some tear if off and start to bleed again.
And seeing this, they weep and wish to die.
A time will come when intuition tells
We’ve reached the central space where we will see.
The wound’s not killed us, so we hold our breath.
Wishing not to fall in apathy.
The lines and shape of face display the wound
The skin is thin, but life may be resumed
To those poets who guided me along
that long, arduous road to success:
I sincerely give them my sweetest
" Thank you " and my warmest hug.
I can mention many names: Carrie Richards, Laura Mckenzie, Carolyn Devonshire
Cathy Lindsey, Debbie Guzzi, Nette Oncloud, Linda-Marie,Harry Horseman, Rick Parise,
Andrea Dietrich,Carol Brown,John Freedman,Connie Marcum Wong,Andersen Anne Lise,
John J. Falotico, Destroyer Poet, Vienna Bombardieri and Tracie Indigo Dreamweaver.
I would love to see those names in the Poetry Soup Hall Of Fame;
they have shown devotion and ambition through their brilliant poetry,
and the entire world should recognize them for their talent and ability,
but if the literati ignored their contributions, it would be more than shame.
I praise these gladiators of literature whose sharp swords are words for thought;
I laud their achievements and shout their names with a pride never heard,
to let everyone know how great and invincible they are in the battlefield...
and they'll go forward holding the torch of inspiration until its flame will burn out.