Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2014
The gun bled crimson
tracers
under moonless skies,
penetrated the ramparts
& those with tattered knapsacks
remained vigilant
as stalwart sentries
fell in ****** tatters
to the ground.

Maniacally,
they laughed
at such insane acts,
buried their own dead,
full of enemy-lead.
Jonny Angel
Written by
Jonny Angel  GRB090423
(GRB090423)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems