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Graff1980 Sep 2015
It is the soldier born of blood
That finds his bath irrevocably red
Crimson stains cloud his head
Not a part of him comes home unbled
But the bloodiest of wounds
The bleedings that never stops
Does not come from cut, or contusion
Not from the legions leaking lesions  
But from the dreams that wake him screaming
Turning a once wise and strong warrior
Into a broken ****** baby doll
Kenshō Sep 2015
The man who tries to prove a point
Is unsure of how sharp it is.
A man who wars with blunt arms,
Is confident in his own strength.

The man who bears armor brave,
Falls heavy into his own grave.
The man who comes naked
Is sure he will return unscathed.

But, not every warrior is the same;
And no war can be fought
In the shadow of divine aim.
who do you blame?
Izzy Sep 2015
She was the poet, her hands stained with ink
He was the soldier, his hands stained with blood

The gentle hands of a dreamer intertwined with the rough hands of a fighter.
Camille Koser Sep 2015
she walks across my mind
she bends around my spine
a queen that moves each tide
she wins battles of will
she is a strong but beautiful still
and I promise that you ****
cause,who is she but only the soldier in me
Sometimes I wish I could find the soldier in me
Ignatius Hosiana Sep 2015
FOR Mwima Zubair Naser*
(Gone too soon,when still in bloom
In the line of duty,what a pity)
In memory of you I'll always cry
I won't stop no matter how hard I try
Why do you have to promise
And then just pass on like this?
Especially when you are all gone
Leaving us in this world on our own
Did you have to leave this young
When I lack any beautiful speech
On my saddened tongue?
When the ball is still on pitch?
You had Samson's courage
Like a car with shocking milage
Did you have to go when I need you
Did you have to evaporate like morning dew
From the fragile petals of our youth
Did you have to join the boots?
It isn't fair to go when I cannot send you off
When I haven't condolence,not half a loaf
Did you have to go so soon
And leave my heart out of tune?
Say hallo to Wilber and the others
The thought of you all really bothers
I've never been one to say goodbye
And saying it will all be but a lie
To me you still breathe and live
That you're gone I cannot believe
I hope you made it through
And all these rumors ain't true
Ntsika H Sep 2015
I've watched enough military movies to know that, time is the most valuable asset.
One day, you're swapping bullets and the next day, you're drowning in them.
I know that every time you pick up a gun, you're holding death.
I know that every bullet is a phone call to home from your commanding officer telling your family how outstanding your service to your country has been.

Every soldier, every partner is a life on its own.
Every man for themselves because when I get killed, we can't swap places so instead we swap stories of our life cause we know that soon it's going to end.
Every mission is a doorway to a head shot, so you use your head so you don't get shot.
You assume position in the safest place only to be found by a ****** that marks you with a laser the same color as your blood, so there's no surprise when this ****** takes you out.

You served well, soldier. But your battle is over.
Ron Sparks Sep 2015
at my age
drinking whiskey
with young
Marines
is a poor choice
Decades of practice
and years of experience
keep me seemingly
sober
for longer -
I beat my nephew at
chess
in five moves
bragging about my skill and
prowess
but really, my nine shots
to his
three give me an
unfair advantage;
I’ve learned to handle
my whiskey
I mock these young
soldiers
for their lack of
stamina,
knowing all the while
they will wake at
0600,
run three miles,
and feel great
while I will
sleep
until 0900
and feel like
**** all day
Miss Clofullia Sep 2015
the soldier in charge with raising the flag
felt ashamed because he couldn’t get it up.

he stayed up the whole night crying,
packing all his Ezras and his Allens,
ironing his shirts and
wrapping in old newspapers the photos
of him and his grandfather.

the stench of fire crackers and
hot dogs was still strong on his clothes
and he couldn’t touch the top of his mouth
with his tongue.

the pain was edgy and the
bull’s eye couldn’t take it anymore;

he knew he flagged  life once again.
Taya Aug 2015
His eyes,
brown
pools of chocolate
my hands reach to clasp
the gift he has given:
a locket

His hair,
midnight
like a raven's wing
on my hand
his promise:
a ring

His skin,
tan
like the sand on the beach
a badge held in my hands
reminding
he is out of reach

On the table
a note lay
tears fell
dropped to the note
smudging the lines
of which they wrote

He was gone
out of reach
lost in the storm

I felt cold now
he was the one
keeping me warm
Untold Story Aug 2015
He stands over his own grave.
With one single wave
He says goodbye.
A tear falls from his eyes.

He salutes the tombstone
Salutes the man he'd once known.
He now lays under the stone
There he'll be until he's nothing but bones.

He fought a never ending war
Fought a destroyer
Fought a monster
It's he who he ended up to devour.

He's alive, but dead; He's torn.
A new man in his shoes is born.
Here I stand and morn
I watched all since he Inborn.

He's a former soldier.
Her's my father.
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