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Brumous Apr 2021
My love can be oceans deep
vast yet beautiful;

As its waves gently drenching the sand,
all I can imagine is the warmth of your hand
No words can comprehend how much I love you

That is why even after crossing the seven seas
I might find myself drowning
if you got tired of me
We as humans, yearn, want, and need
Only to find ourselves; lonely and full of greed
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
At Wilfred Owen’s Grave
by Michael R. Burch

A week before the Armistice, you died.
They did not keep your heart like Livingstone’s,
then plant your bones near Shakespeare’s. So you lie
between two privates, sacrificed like Christ
to politics, your poetry unknown
except for that brief flurry’s: thirteen months
with Gaukroger beside you in the trench,
dismembered, as you babbled, as the stench
of gangrene filled your nostrils, till you clenched
your broken heart together and the fist
began to pulse with life, so close to death.

Or was it at Craiglockhart, in the care
of “ergotherapists” that you sensed life
is only in the work, and made despair
a thing that Yeats despised, but also breath,
a mouthful’s merest air, inspired less
than wrested from you, and which we confess
we only vaguely breathe: the troubled air
that even Sassoon failed to share, because
a man in pieces is not healed by gauze,
and breath’s transparent, unless we believe
the words are true despite their lack of weight
and float to us like chlorine—scalding eyes,
and lungs, and hearts. Your words revealed the fate
of boys who retched up life here, gagged on lies.

Published by The Chariton Review, The Neovictorian/Cochlea, Rogue Scholars, Romantics Quarterly, Mindful of Poetry, Famous Poets and Poems, Poetry Life & Times, Other Voices International

Keywords/Tags: Wilfred, Owen, war, poem, trench, warfare, chlorine, gas, gangrene, armistice, ergotherapists, Craiglockhart, Sassoon, Yeats, honor, lies, gag, gagged, gagging, death, grave, funeral, elegy, eulogy, tribute, World War I
Shea Oct 2018
I wake up.
I took two pills before I blacked
I forgot I did,
I'm on autopilot.
You might worry,
The circles around my eyes
are a tell-tale sign
I assure you I'm not fine.
I am not in control of my life
I'm living in strife
everyone I know has left me
You see,
You don't see
And that's the thing
I don't want you to see
But why doesn't anyone see?
Evan Sep 2018
Grey is the gentle night sky on a moonlit night
A small scurrying field mouse
A soldiers greatcoat as he runs through a trench

Grey is the gentle lake in twilights sight

Grey is the color of the last heartbeat

Grey sounds like the feathers of an Owl
Without sound as it sails to its prey
Without sound it steals its last heartbeat

Grey is the sound of the gallows
The last struggle

Grey feels like soft velvet
A rabbits Fur
The feeling of sweet loves embrace

But Grey also feels like loneliness
On a rainy night, when love is needed most

Grey tastes of Rot
Of decay and death
And of the sweetest cinnamon

Grey tastes like the old ways

Grey smells like the trenches
***** and old
Filled with pride and death

Men dying for their country
So that one may be the winner of the world
I'm not british i just like the spelling grey better than gray, another school poem
Kendall Seers Apr 2018
Alone is a trench you dig by yourself.
Love is a garden that I dug with you.

We shower each other in compliments,
like rose petals that bloomed
so recently, so beautifully,
we just had to pick them.
We couldn't help it,
we admired them so.

Alone is a blue sky without a cloud in sight,
[and it misses them so.]
Love is the lightning and the rain in a thunderstorm.

They too, complement each other,
one conducting the other
in a symphony, full of gorgeous crashes,

one can't help but
be awed,
be inspired,

be in love,
with what we've become.
Love takes work and kindness.
Sam Jul 2017
I was in a trench with all my sorrows

When all I needed was a rope
When all I needed was a ladder

You threw me a shovel
Sarah Michelle Feb 2017
Don't wait for me
to come to the surface.
There is a lifetime of possibility
here on the ocean floor.
Let me be
the bottom-dweller
first discovered by submarine.
The darkness is not
as intimidating
as it may seem.

Don't feel around for my body
with your feet.
You won't find me in the shallow end
of the sea;
walk down the gradual *****,
where there is no air left to breath.
Over the mountains and hills
and great plains,  then you'll find me
Seven miles deep
in the Marianas Trench.

Then you'll understand my immense stress.
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