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Dec 2018 · 221
Aimee McDonald Dec 2018
how can you forget,
what made up so many years?
ditch the regret;
the unnecessary tears.

it hits you sort of sudden,
when you're perhaps unprepared.
looking at a memory,
and the joy you shared.

the tug on your heart-string,
the shortness of breath.
this isn't a sad thing-
yet it feels like a death.

a grieving of pastimes,
a reminder of youth.
they stick like nursery rhymes,
the don't give the truth.

who would've guessed
that these stupid things began a
childish quest
now it's bittersweet nostalgia
Aimee McDonald Dec 2018
I've seen your trenches,and I've seen your graves,
I've heard of your weapons and heard of your slaves,
I've imagined the fumes and imagined the rain,
I've imagined the sights but can't imagine the pain.
Not from bayonets,nor shrapnel blasting out,
But from the vision of the gunshot taking the Fritz down.
From the riddling guilt as your hand pulled the trigger,
Which wiped out the unknown,young German figure.
From the nightmares of his family collapsing at the news,
That their beloved son had succumbed to his wounds.
You look over these beaten fields awash with confusion,
Wondering how on Earth humans partake in such delusion.
How they thought,somehow,it'd be the most fitting plan:
"To sort out all of the world's problems-set man after man!".
You walked out on that field regardless, till your last dying breath.
And you made sure,under all circumstances, to fight until death.
For this I'm forever grateful and still can't suffice,
Why we give you two minutes a year, when you gave us your life.

— The End —