#warpoem

I've put a halt to the second coming

Forgive me Madonna The Son is dead, put to sleep with my silver bullet.

Forgive me Madonna he's been lain to rest...not in your lap.

But between the bodies,

of a dozen men

He is not alone in

death.

but he did not go peacefully, choking on his blessed

blood.

The blood he shed is not my

remedy.

The scars he took on, no they're not healing me.

1000 lashes.

1000 shrapnel pieces.

Forgive me madonna, i've killed your son.

For every Helmet for my Pillow–

How many memoirs go unpublished?

Their poems left unrecited.

The words long written down

never to be bound by our cultural consciousness;

left to rot–       in their pockets,

slowly washed away with crimson blood

or blown to shreds from falling rockets.

Their silent echoes hushed by the battlefield;

the shadows of their memories

never illuminated nor revealed.

The writings of the dead;

The sad part about war among many other things is that there will be some who will leave the earth without a trace of ever having been here. Who, what, where, why, how? How is this, war?Who is the enemy here?New born babies, pregnant mothers?School going children? Patients? Doctors?Teachers? Mall shoppers? Isn’t this genocide?What do we call those who kill indiscriminately?Bullies? War…

Oh! Where would I be when the bullets fly?

Oh! Where would I be when I come to die?

Why,

Somewheres anigh my chum,

If 'e's liquor 'e'll give me some,

If I'm dyin' 'e'll 'old my 'ead,

An 'e'll write 'em 'Ome when I'm dead

Gawd send us a trusty chum!

Quagmire (rhyming story) wrote based off the battle of Passchendaele and from the view of either a Canadian or some other country which was brought into the war by alliances.

Looking across the land,

I came to understand.

They swallowed the men,

Would you never see the light again?

The water in cases them,

To the water death they were condemn.

A quicksand of mud,

Covered in blood.

Do not let this step be my last,

I dearly asked.

Are my feet still there?

I wonder in despair.

When will it end,

This battle of a friend.

I fear I will not last,

The land is vast.

And so muddy,

And I have not seen my buddy.

Please do not swallow me whole,