the many body bags fill with each passing day
conflicts on other soil hath put them there
family and friends hear of deaths far away
where the explosive devices don't care
the troops sent to countries of other view
their arrival greeted with hostility
stepping on foreign tract means a slew
nowhere is there a trace of affability
our soldiers our sons our brothers our boys
engaged in wars where they'll pay profound
military planners implement their ploys
the caskets keep returning to home ground
soldiers wrapped in disposable bags
with serial numbers on their dog-tags

Thy quill hath become somewhat weary
Writing poems daily without any respite
On the bullet casing one shall now bite
A break away to restore thy energy
Vigor hath drained to a very low point
Penning poetic lines so exhausting
Time out is required for recharging
Thy quill's black ink doth not want to anoint
Within the next day or so I'll return
Feeling more refreshed and full of vim
Thy cannot keep pouring words on a page
Of late the candle hath done a high burn
Thy powers to write are becoming dim
To have a session of rest is most sage

she wrote a sonnet but she got it wrong
proper syllable count her lines ne'er had
twas a most shocking sight really quite bad
her shabby work had a distinct kind of pong
she put it out there for all to peruse
the skilled sonnet writers had a look
her display they rated as verily crook
the format of it did of her confuse
she had not a spruce quill like the bard Bill
her specimen would have disgusted him
particular was he about his form
she produced a sonnet which didn't thrill
its appearance was so exceedingly grim
her syllable patterns were not uniform

Here in exile thy is separated
Thy kin folk shall see not a sight of me
Ousted from thy friends not feeling sated
Another door hath been opened for me
Others took this wretch into their welcome fold
Thy cast to the winds of segregation
Treading a path on a road so very cold
Thy must suffer in vast alienation
With hopes of returning back to kin
Thy outlook is uncertain this is so
Will their arms accept the one of much sin
All is in the air maybe the signs say no
Thy ruminates on the outer border
Shall past friends give thy an entry order