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Shrey Mar 2018
We go to sleep
Wishing people sweet dream
From out there on the border
We don't hear your scream

We live near loved ones
But we do not really see
The sacrifices you make
To keep us all free

We never really cherish
The reason we can freely roam
Is because of never ending wait
Of your family to see you home

You don't take leave
Be it winter, spring or fall
In the shivering cold nights
You stand strong and tall.

While we enjoy the evening
Riding city on the bike
For nation, you play
The real life counter strike

You are the real superman
Even though you have son and bride
Fighting for the nation,
You die with pride.

For what you have done
Along with your crew
The nation shall never forget
We all salute you!
If i am sitting in my room writing poems in peace and if you sleep at night without worrying about tomorrow, it's cause of hundreds of thousands of true heroes, that spend days and nights to ensure we can.
Nicholas Fonte Mar 2018
Our own care is always there
We flare up out of the chair
To stand even if we don't understand
Our tree will grow free
We never flee in order to see
A new day within this fray
Owen C Swenson Mar 2018
I run amok.
I am only happy when I am stuck.
Addicted to the struggle, just to fight the fight.
I turn out the lights just to feel the fright.
I chase these storms so I can look them in the eye, and curse the words " ******* ", right before I die.
Nic Mac Mar 2018
I don't want to shoot,
I don't want to win
I don't want to 'fight' the way we were trained,
I'll fight with my heart and a can of white paint.

Wounded flags fatefully fall.
Under the spell your command.
But watch me you will, I'll make them true,
Watch me you will, as I make them free.
We don't belong to you.

I'll brush them clean, with the truth of our tears,
Unwilling participants of the sick game,
We never wanted to play.

I don't want to shoot,
I don't want to win
I don't want to 'fight' the way we were trained,
I'll fight with my heart and not with your aims.
I'll fight for us all,
For we all die the same.
To go with an illustration I did of a dying solider who, In his last moments, painted a flag white, aswell as the emblem on his arm...

By Nic Mac

Written by Nic Mac
Merlina Rodas Mar 2018
A wounded soldier
in a battle with his demons
The demons that possess hers
with merciless strength

She feels them in his touch
When chills trail her spine
In his breath
sharp against her marked skin

A heart pounding fantasy
is manifested with one
graze of the lips
against the nape of her neck

The night falling
over their bare bodies-
the only sign of passing time
within a torturous passage of sensation

Her eyes become riveted
On the motion of his fingers
As they slowly mark
her delicate skin

In each kiss of his ***** lips
her demons find strength
And she soars higher
than she ever imagined she could go

He claims her entirely
Her body, her soul
His strength is her weakness
And her mind takes the toll

And as broken as he was
all she saw was a flawless being
With mental shrapnel polluting him
And keeping him from healing
a tsunami catapulted cruising skiff
skyward landing with quiet thud
across undulating infinite granular waves
formerly solid state rocks and minerals

optimism vibrant upon initial unforeseen
crash asper for test dummies
foundered as undertow fostered diminishing hope
initial faith for survival quickly ebbed

nsync with retreating tidal wave
pessimism dreamt fantastical holograms
farther from beached berth
immediately transformed into quicksand,

while off in the distance
a glimmering chimera
(the first of many) appeared
amidst the desert sands one mirage

after another falsely broken promise
buoyed drained salvation
quick decision decreed each man for himself
thus disseminating banded bruited "brothers"

condemnation, damnation, excoriation, fulmination
hurled at cosmic creator thwarting intercession
dehydration, exhaustion, ingratiation, jubilation
foretold merciless portentous demise

witheringly desiccating lovely bones of mine
no doubt raw elements of nature wrought
fate worse than death sans, cabin "mates"
lost among expanse of whittled quartz

across chronometer measuring millions of years
now subjecting one measly mortal i.e. me
to cruel unforgiving, unrelenting,
unwelcoming petty coated junction

blistering hot wind obliterated
fellow travelers convoy deeply
within diabolical dunes
eternally erased doom

awaited for 21st century explorers
to discover scattered wreckage
both beast of burden, outrigged contrivance
and starry trekkers, who vanished without a trace

a handful of scrappy rapscallion existences
blotted (like ink, oil, or other liquid sponged),
where subsequent seasons
of wicked bewitched slow torture

akin to being raked over hot coals
exception made for this interminable sufferer
at the whim of sadistic
persona non grata evil spirit

n'er obliterating diehard survivor instinct
a foreigner to yours truly
but atavistic primitive fight or flight
witnessed relieved whence absently blinking

this life married to indiscriminate
clamped, harried, styled devilishness
evaporated in thin air
upon tentatively opening myopic brown eyes
horror, twas boot a dream.
Graff1980 Mar 2018
Scabs crusting;
Feet wrinkle
with an unrelenting
wetness
in cold socks.

The soldier walks
reaching the point
of contact,
a swift interlude
of gorilla combat.

After the gun fight
he collects
small bullet casings.

Then when silence
finally comes at night
he takes them out,
rolling them
through and around
his fingers.

Various
colored casings
of memories chasing
each potential
point of pain;
He imagines
the cycle of sorrow
that each projectile
might have injected
into this world.

Then the soldier
buries the bullet casings
and
finally, leaves the battlefield.
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