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Suhayb 6d
Peace for our time.
Before the blasts of bomb and battling,
The roar of rhythmic rifles rattling.
Sudden sounds of screams are silenced.
Many millions meet their maker.

Peace for our time.
Is peace the vapid void of voice,
And sound surrounding the silent scores,
Lying lifeless, once laughing lovers,
Forever forgotten, in fields of flowers?

Peace for our time.
Did this twist of truth tempt the tides
Of fate, and fan the flames for us
To make the most merciless decision,
To **** for victory,
To **** with precision?

Peace for our time.
Both sides with bibles buckled to belts,  
Gamble on the good graces of God.
Which god would support this mindless ******,
Burnt bodies piled high to rot?

Peace for our time.
When our soil was soaked with soldiers sorrow.
Women wept, eyes echoing their agony.
Let us rejoice that this time would befall.

For if this is peace, speak not of war.
Based on a speech from the British Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, in which he declared 'Peace for our Time' shortly before the outbreak of WW2.
Mark Sep 10
We were ordered by military law

To elope, even before our boat had hit the shore

The bullets knocked us about, thats for sure

Dead cobbers scattered adrift, from the infantrys 1st corp

Now some mates from my own platoon, 1, 2, 3 now 4

Nobody should ever have to witness such gore

Did not matter if you were rich or poor

You were just a target, in this almighty war

If the politicians demanded, they would easily send more

Finally, the west encircled the mad beast, with a rambunctious roar

But they let the Reds go forth, who savaged all the women, like a wild boar

What was the main aim and what was the true meaning, deep down at its core, for this unholy friggin’ war?
AsianTapWater Aug 10
I still remember that day. The pain in his eyes as my boss dragged me away. The way he lifted his arm, as if he wanted to grab me and bring me back to him. The looks of scorn and disappointment in everyone's eyes as they watched us be separated. The small smile on that American man's face as he realises that he, the 'hero', has once more 'saved the day'.

I sigh as I slowly close the bedroom door. It has been a whole year. Why am I still thinking about him?
I spot a piece of paper and a quill laying in a jar of ink on my desk. Maybe I should write him a letter. But would he read it? Will he even receive it? I might as well try.


Dear Germany,

Ciao! It's been a while, hasn't it?
How are you? Do you need help paying off debts?
I'm getting very lonely here.
Even my Fratello is avoiding me.

A lot has happened since the war ended.
I have a new anti-fascist government.
People started going around killing fascists.
It was really scary, but my boss said it was the right thing to do.
I know they were bad, but I don't like watching people die!

I hope you're ok.
Austria said you were feeling sick after your mean boss died.
But you didn't really look so good before that, either...

Do you want pasta?
I know it isn't your favourite
But I want to do something for your birthday.

We are still friends, right?

Please reply,
Italy Veneziano
Finally, a poem+story for my Isolated AU. Well, sort-of poem. Not sure what it is. The letter is written on VE Day, one year after the end of WW2. Fratello means brother in Italian, the brother of course is Romano/South Italy. Germany's mean boss is Adolf ******.
About Isolated: In this AU, the three main Axis countries are separated from each other and forced to cut all forms of contact after WW2. Also, Prussia dies and Gilbird lives with Germany.
And for you Americans, the date is 5/8/1946. Don't know why you guys like backwards dates, but ok.
AsianTapWater Jul 11
I suppose this is it, mein Kleiner Bruder.
My time has finally come to an end.

After this war,
I will be no more.
Our countries will merge,
Just like they did
When Vater still existed.

I suppose this is it, mein Kleiner Bruder.
It is time for me to join Vater in Himmel.

Who knows, perhaps one day
You shall raise un kind
Just as awesome as me.

Heh, I doubt it.
Nobody can be
As awesome as me.
Not even after
I leave this world.

Bruder, promise me
After I die,
That you will take care of Berlin,
And carry on
My legacy.

Perhaps you will go on
To build a great empire,
Just like Vater did.

If you do,
Promise me you won’t **** another 11 million people for fun.

I suppose this is it, mein Kleiner Bruder.
My time has finally come to an end.

Lebewohl, mein Kleiner Bruder,
Ich werde dich vermissen.
Another Hetalia poem, this time about Prussia and a possible AU where he actually dies after WW2. I'm not exactly fluent in German so I may have messed up here and there. Lebewohl = Farewell, Mein Kleiner Bruder = My smaller/younger/little brother, Vater = Father (in this poem, the father is Germania), Himmel = Heaven, Un kind = A child, Ich werde dich vermissen = I will miss you.

{{ This poem is also a front page pick on }}
Nigdaw Jun 30
The piano in the corner is silent
Now Johnny’s gone, shot down over France
And the bar is so much quieter
After Toby died with some Fokker up his ****;
The reality of war has now hit us
The next scramble could be your last,
So let’s have one for the road, boys
Because outside its dark and its cold
The wind sounds hungry to take us
To places we’d rather not go.

The man we all know as “Red Leader”
A *******, but a ****** good laugh
Now dreams each night he is burning
His screams voicing all of our fears,
But we’ll still put a brave face on it
Stiff upper lip and all of that jazz,
Although it feels like we are waiting
For the very last call to arms;
But the bottle on the bar isn’t empty
And death still stands in the wings.

The drone of a “Doodlebug” overhead
On its way to London Town;
How much more can the poor buggers take
With another street blown to hell?
Today, I believe, is Good Friday
So let’s raise our glasses to a man
Who sacrificed life for all our sakes
As we may lose ours for our freedom:
But there’s still some feeling in my body
And time for a few glasses more.

A young kid, just arrived yesterday
Looks at these haggard faces in awe,
To him, this room is full of heroes
Not the ones who have so far survived;
Trained for half the time needed
He is willing to go to war
Only nineteen, but by this time tomorrow
He’ll have aged about ten years more.
So let’s drink to you, young fool
May you live to see a better day.
I have a fascination with WW2.
AsianTapWater May 28
I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Please forgive me.
Or at least, pretend to.
I know you really won’t.

They’re dead.
They’re all dead.
And it’s all my fault.

Why didn’t I stop him?

Why couldn’t I save them?

You hate me, don’t you?
Surely you do.
He made me a murderer.
We slaughtered your men.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Please pretend you forgive me.
Please pretend you still love me.

I’m sorry, dear brother.

I love you too.
Sort of a response/sequel to my China poem. This one is from Japan. Again, invasion of Manchuria.
AsianTapWater May 28
2500 years ago,
In a forest far from home,
I found you, aru.
A tiny child, surrounded by towering green bamboo.

I helped you,
I raised you,
Even though you lived far away.
Two brothers
In two countries.

2000 years later,
And you invade my land.
My men are dying,
But I can't do anything.

You smile
As you watch us suffering before you.
You cheer
As you watch the crimson puddles become a lake.

What happened, aru?
What happened to that child?
What happened to us?
Are you even my brother, aru?

You were kind.
You were a good man.
You cared about me.

What happened, aru?

What caused this rage?
What have my men done
To deserve this punishment?

Come back, aru.
Save yourself from this demon.
This isn’t you,
I know it isn’t.

Please, aru,
Don’t do this.

You can **** all my men,
But, please,
Spare me.

I still love you, aru.
A poem about China from Hetalia: Axis Powers. The slaughter mentioned is the invasion of Manchuria during WW2.

I wanted something really sad so have China being killed by his brother.
Angry, disturbed.
It hurts me to the core.
Ripped, missing,
Parts of History.
You're pain is valid,
But so is mine.

You were hurt,
But you blew off his side.
Casey Jan 3
In Vilna lives a young Polish girl, so wealthy and carefree

Suddenly, away goes she and her family

Taken by force, pushed into a truck

Belongings stuffed into a trunk

A train awaits as they file in

The door closes and the light is dim

The young girl asks, "Where are we going?"

Her father replies, "Only the Russian soldiers are knowing."

Weeks fly by on the railroad

Ever so slowly the train goes

The prisoners alike arrive at a town

Once again pushed into trucks and carted around

The girl and her family arrive at a mining camp

The grandmother says repulsively, "We look like tramps."

"The land is so flat!" The girl remarks

"We're in Siberia...." The father says with a heavy heart

Silk clothes soiled and heads hung low

Into makeshift mud houses, the capitalists go

The landscape, nothing but brown and dried grass

The young girl thinks, "how long will this heat last?"

To the gardens, she goes

To **** the hundreds of shrunken potatoes

Her family is to work in the mine

On little bread and cheese, they dine

Finally relocated to a nearby village

Everyone so hungry, none dare to pillage

The girl goes to school and makes new friends

She wishes hopefully that learning won't end

Her family with their own mud house

Having not to worry about a single mouse

A letter arrives one day

To war, the father must be sent away

He takes the train to the front lines

Everyone says their goodbyes

Weeks later, the newspaper arrives

Heavy casualties reported, from those same front lines

They receive a letter from the father

"I'm alive." It reads, "About crying, don't bother."

Winter creeps in and nothing is left to keep warm

The girl steals coal and wood shavings thinking, "it couldn't do any harm"

Quickly the money goes by

The young girl takes up knitting on the fly

Her knitted sweaters earn them milk and potatoes

She spends less time with her friends, though

The little mud house too cold to bare

They find new people to live with, no warm clothes to wear

Years pass and the girl turns fifteen, not young anymore

Seven years they have spent in Siberia, living like the poor

Word arrives that the war is completed

From Siberia, the Germans had packed up and retreated

A letter comes, saying that the little family can go home

They take the train and upon arrival begin to roam

The streets are barren with nothing left

They find their house, not spared of theft

The father appears much older

The weather in Siberia was much colder

Than what Vilna, Poland was like

The girl takes her father's hand and family alike

The years of exile are done

The war is over, the Allies have won
I made this poem October 11, 2016. It was for an LA book project. This is based off a book I read, The Endless Steppe. I had to write a total of 3 poems for the project. For the first one, it had to be a summary of the book. FYI, the book takes place during WW2.
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