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The wind bellows:
Unrelenting, pounding, cold.
A dog barks, sending sharp shivers down my spine.
Lying on my front my nose presses against the mud, It's earthy smell filling my nostrils.
Footsteps quicken; voices rise, the taste of salty sweat on my brow.
They've found me.
Reaching for my revolver I grasp it firmly, assured at last.
A single shot fires, it's echoes piercing the night as the thirsty ground soaks up my blood.
©️ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved.
A poem about a soldier in world war I who was never going to allow himself to be captured and become a prisoner of war.
Where the dead lie the flowers grow,
The trees shoot tall and the winds blow.
Resting in their eternal peace,
Memories live on and never cease.
Weathered stone and faded names,
At home, broken pictures in broken frames.
The woosh of an aeroplane flys overhead,
To honour their sacrifice and salute the dead.
For they have died so we might be free,
Lives lost inland and those at sea.
For we recall all that they gave,
As we whisper quiet prayers beside the grave.
©️ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved.
Inspired whilst reading tombstones of fallen soldiers at Irthlingborough cemetery next to the church. Reading and performing Wilfred Owens war poems at London College of Music first got me interested in the theme of war in poetry.
Luna Craft Apr 2016
Take this string in your hand
Let it guide you away
Past the boats, past the ships
So we can go and play

Let us forget about the blood shed
Each and every cry
All those we have mourned
All the sons that have died

Let us sink into our beds
Fall into a deep slumber
Reach into rustic coffins
Blood has soaked the lumber

Let bomb shells be lullaby's
Because this is ending fast
I'm sorry sweety, I need to go
There is but one more draft
Martin Narrod Dec 2015
Come to me great entangler of speech, until the mouth
is a thicket of word mash, you
who rakes strain out of the day to day visions.

Four nights last week you came in the dream-sweeps
flying at forty-one thousand feet. Encrusting this crimson suitcase of blood production with aurulent Trojan footstep rumbles in the hundreds of thousands.

Are you the new blues guitar, the trill bliss in satirical Dutch painting;
you who wrestles the languages of sleep. To get to keep you we'd **** all mystical beasts, sew treason, and wait naked for the dead things to come.

Remoteness in the time of the lonely.
Where you shed shivers of  sharks
In wild dance and wicked tantrum, lilting
Beside the androgyny of days and Time.
You the dashboard Jesus of sin and canter.
No scurrying footsteps to barge the heavy moods of ****** or abscess.

In half breaths you weaponize yourself,
A take of drink and then with the rest of the aves,
Swallowed by the colossus of entanglement,
Taken beneath the blue awning amidst the company of the sea.
Carl Halling Aug 2015
I feel at one with sweethearts
Through the years,
With the wartime lovers
Who went overseas,
All the shattered hearts,
All the rivers of tears,
I feel them all.

Verses of love,
Lovers who must part,
Portraits of love
Worn so very close to the heart,
All the lovers lost,
Loves that never even start,
I feel them all.
"All the Rivers of Tears" was originally part of the coda of a song written in ca. 1999.
Red Bergan May 2014
Oh heart,
You have been in pain.
For all this time.
You ache everyday,
As the war goes on.

Fear thee not,
Thy scorn will be venged.
When your mate of fire.
Comes to your bend.

Fear not my love,
My heart of Desire.
Your love will come,
He will be engulfed.
In healing Fire.
Revised to my Version. DISCLAIMER. This goes to Julie Kirby. (THE other me)
Dark Jewel May 2014
Heart of desire..
You fear not.
For thy war,
Has commenced.

Heart of all,
Deserver of love.
Deceived is thee.

Heart of desire,
Triumphant and Willed.
You have become,
Quite skilled.*

Heart of Desire,
Doth not fear.
Your mate,
Fire.
Will always be there.
My heart is troubled by the wings that have spread... Let me fly to him now.. My mate forever.

— The End —