I felt that I should volunteer
for two short years to do my part,
and so I asked the local draft board,
“Make me next, I want to serve.”
The letter came from Uncle Sam.
It told me to do and when.
They gave me a green uniform,
as orders flew from all directions.
The food was good, the hours long,
as training turned us into men.
Our hair was short, our pay was low,
just sixty-three dollars a month.
I went to war my second year
and lived behind a wire fence.
A prison term is what it seemed.
It felt like incarceration.
When it was over, I came home
with ribbons on my uniform.
“Distinguished Service” was awarded,
by the officer in charge.
Fifty years have come and gone,
but still I hear that special phrase,
from some who say to veterans,
“Thank you for your service.”
A depressed suicidal man speeds
Down an expressway in England
Police pursue at high speeds
'Til they learn gas onboard
Four squad cars surround
Rear bump of car
He ignites
Fuel
Flames
Grow
Higher
Spread further
Become intense
Police defy harm
Struggle to remove man
In removal they succeed
He wanted to go out in a
Blaze of glory but his bomb fizzled
Note:
This was on TV and a true story
in which he was severely burned but
ended up serving three year
prison term with counseling whether
he wanted it or not..
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.