#solider
Each day a letter comes
Each night it goes unread
Sometimes they stack up like moldy bread
But each week they’re burned in a drum
The weather says clear, but the sky’s need to cry
Poison in the air has taken many lives
Even us here have to learn to survive
On planes the bodies are sent back of the ones who died
I try for a walk and see his shadow
I don’t get far but down the street
To an old coffee shop where we would meet
I order a drink and watch the crows
On my walk home, the trees look bare
The concrete is growing strong on the grass
And the flags are all set to half mass
In the mailbox, is a letter from Vietnam; with a slight tear
May 7, 2024
May 7, 2024 at 3:31 PM UTC
Heroes wear all kinds of uniforms,
and call many places home,
but standing the line for Democracy
they are all just as tall and just as brave
Who was this man
who ventured to a distant land
to defend it from an invader
they are not his people
this was not his home
but he stood the line for Democracy
he stood the line proud and tall
and died
He was my Brother
He was my Father
He was my Friend
He was a good man
He stood the line for Democracy
Apr 19, 2024
Apr 19, 2024 at 7:47 PM UTC
When a soldier marches, where does his focus go?
Forward? To glory or doom?
His mind filled with stories of honour and pride of wars long ago?
Backward? Of the life, they left behind?
To the wife, the child back home?
The medals to be shown as trinkets or to speak never more?
Have they ever stopped to look around? Of the country, to be or not to be? The mountains, the rivers, the towns and to the sea.
The damage to be caused? The life preserved?
Regardless, the solider marches
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 8:22 AM UTC
We think a soldier knows no
fear. How wrong we are it's fear
that keeps him alive. A trained killing machine he is but made of flesh and blood. It's the training and comradeship
that keeps his spirit high. The words cover me works like a spell he forgets
he is mortal. From an ordinary being he becomes a super hero his heart and mind knows only one thing protect the life of his comrade who has stepped into the dark trusting him. Bullets can pierce him pain can make him fall yet his arm and eyes are steady his gun trained eyes scanning for any danger that might befall his friend.
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 6:39 AM UTC
On the border stand a few men in shivering cold who have sworn that
not a soul shall cross as long as they stand. You and I live oblivious of this cozy and safe their sacrifice gone unnoticed. At home we have a similar
a farmer and soldier rolled into one
who sees that there is food on the fire
our safety his only concern. As long as alive we notice him not, a stranger to wish once in a while. He is the one we call father. Mother we praise in verse and rhyme yet not a word for him at home and the one on the border. Dear friends of mine remember them say a kind word once in a while they are the heroes brave hearts with hearts of gold.
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 8:16 AM UTC
“I was okay with dying.” The Irishman tells the ghost of an unknown soldier. “It’s inevitable. Especially in war.” He sits down facing the sunset.
The soldier picks up a red poppy from the field. “How did you die?”
“I was airborne.” Says the Irishman. “I died from a crash. You?”
The soldier looks up at him. “Gunshot wound. Although one of these poppies is for me. My body lies back in the trenches.”
The Irishman nodded. “My body lies back at the crash. No one has found me yet.”
“We were alive a short while ago.” The soldier says. “We laughed and breathed. Now we’re stuck here for eternity.”
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 7:12 PM UTC
It's a countdown, whats the count now?
Do you know? Is it in your head?
Is it trapped in your pillow as you lay in bed?
You say run, I'll do laps until I collapse.
Until I relapse to the same spot
Where my legs drops, keep my head up.
Keep your head down like a soldier
Fighting through a war, getting older.
What's the count now? It's a countdown.
Eighteen shots rang out across the field
Eleven more then each side did yield
The commander speaks out in code
Like he has a plan for that unknown
Guerilla warfare until the cover is blown
But they dont plan for worst scenario
Passing the past like it's buried now.
Each one would take a shot for America
Right to the chest, right through the heart
This is raw thoughts, I'm not wearing a vest.
The pain could drain any in the path of this shooter
But I'm a soldier looking into the future
It's a countdown. What's the count now?
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 1:12 PM UTC
The sun beamed down on the sand,
with an unforgiving frown.
For it knew we would drown.
In the blood of the innocence,
and die in foreign land,
for a war caused by man.
Who care more for the oil
under some man's soil,
Then for his lover,
or even his brother.
We had believed them when they said,
"You, are fighting for freedom from dread"
"You, are fighting for liberation of the dammed"
"You, are fighting for future of democracy"
but alas it was all a lie,
for which we died.
They did not care when the news came,
to them it was always a game.
Money, Money, Money.
More, More, More.
Mine, Mine, Mine.
It was never to save,
or for freedom to the slave.
It was a just greed that sent us to the grave.
For only if they had learnt to give,
then maybe we could forgive.
but instead they were for themselves,
and never for others.
we shall not grant them the forgiveness,
that they beg for in an unconvincing lie.
For they cursed us to die,
fighting for the wrong side.
And now we have gone.
we shall not forgive those,
who lied, posed, convinced us to go,
We ask now,
is the forgiveness of those.
who we harmed, we are sorry.
We didn't know,
but we understand that forgiveness,
is hard for we have not yet forgiven
those that told us it was good to go.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 8:56 AM UTC
War …by Jessie 6/05
I peered quite deep and far beyond, where any man should look
Into the eyes of tragedy, where fury can be took
What I saw, I can’t explain, there are no words to say
Suffice to say that what I saw, scared me on that day
Men as far as the eye can see, lay empty on the ground
Others running fast and hard, explosions all around
Mechanical devices, found burring in the fire, trying hard to stay alive the soldiers first desire
The smell so bad it chokes the throat, from chemicals and death
Heat so hot, it sears the lungs with every choking breath
Fear, in every eye, tells of what’s to come
Nights of panic for many, death will come to some
Cries poured out into the sky from those that have been hurt
While soldiers blood on each side, fill pools in the dirt
Pictures of their families, crumpled in a pocket near their chest
Memories of what they’ve lost, at their final rest
Some men break, the strains too much, from all that they have seen
Not retreating on the battlefield, only in the brain
Yes, I’ve peered quite deep and far beyond, where any man should look
Into the eyes of tragedy, where fury can be took
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 10:33 AM UTC
GET TO YOUR CANONS!!
A solider get's shot,
A whole troop gunned down,
And then, another, and another,
War, what is it good for?
Death,
The smell of it.
Future?
Questionable.
Why must humans play these games?
Why must we watch as another man dies?
WW3 possibility or undeniable.
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC
His legs are hairless.
He's the strongest man I know.
Inside his mind he's 18 again, trapped in a constant battle against a now aged enemy.
He's a father, grandfather even.
He sits with his back to the exit, making sure he can protect us.
He is haunted but proud.
He came home on ships full of broken toy soldiers, wound tight and released into an unknown land.
They returned him in less than pristine conditions, cracked and frayed from a war they did not ask for.
His fears and dark thoughts settle in the lines in his face and on the thick skin on his fingertips.
Pill after pill, meeting after meeting, he is tired.
He wants to wash away the things he's seen that he cannot repeat out loud to us.
"He stirs in his sleep." She says.
Trouble and reoccurring demons fighting battles behind his restless eyelids.
He fought for my future.
He fought for my freedoms.
He is my troubled soldier.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
You vowed to protect our country, the lives of others worlds.
No fear, they teach you, live inside a shell.
You love just as others do, hidden only for a few to see.
Death is not to fear for you, as bravery allows none.
The battlefield is painful, especially for the young. Shocking as the reality is not of what they thought it was.
One out of many times you make it back to stateside. A few more of your brothers left behind, the images grow stronger staying with you forever.
This time I knew when you kissed me, something was different, you said you were never going back, that was long ago, those words were never spoken again.
The struggle to fit in. No peace for you. I knew I married a Solider, lived my life for you. Stood by your side, with every award of honor, every rank of promotion, so very proud of you.
Off you went to the other side of the world, just one more time. I will be here waiting for you till the end of time.
I removed the television, as the news of war continued to wear on me. All the loss of our troops, many friends and some were family.
Months had passed no words from you. I always worried about you.
A knock at the front door, on this cold winter night.
It was snowing heavily, thought crossed my mind, not to answer the door. The dogs didn't bark thus time making the quest even harder than the times before.
I slowly open the door to see what I dreaded many times before. The young officers standing straight and tall asked if they could come inside as the weather was very cold. I stepped back and let them in the door.
Silence seemed to last forever. My mind was already numb. As the officer handed me a package, he began to speak of you. Details were minimal, the words he spoke, I watched his face and lips move, but not hearing his words. A tear rolled from his eye as he said there was nothing I could do.
You are on a new journey now. Still fighting the wars. Lonesome in this house of ours. Now it's time for my tour. Maybe we will meet again on that long road of war..
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
She searches among the masses, their daughter in her hands. Her dress a fluffy pink, her hair in a head band. They have never spent this long apart, never dreamed the hurt it would cause in their heart. When she had watched him leave, her body willed away her tears. While others had cheered. She continued to watch for a shave of brown, a think of dark/light green.She waited for him in dark/gray jeans. The masses continued, her heart falling with every step. Had some note been unanswered? Had something been left unsaid. Her eyes come alight with love, her hands holding a tiny, pink dove. This is it. She thinks quietly to herself, * "I hope you like little-bit" *
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
#Happy Republic Day ....
On This Auspicious day, Today we are celebrating
67th Republic Day of India, as a citizen & child of this motherland i promise to make this country more beautiful by the contribution in the right direction & to protect this country with a humanity, so writing a short letter by expressing my love for my country & I proud to be an Indian...
Good time to examine who we are and how we got here..
Still the flames & a myth of scents tricolour my heart with the name to remind always the Country India...
To express my beautiful India dedicating a letter to and for real life humans and real life hero of country
who shelter us Everyday, every second, every time and they are the real pride of the nation.....
Soldiers
Never born to die or also called Shelter Shadow of country.
I m young and my thoughts towards country is huge for the contribution I believe in work after thinking..
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 6:59 AM UTC
whom do you trust
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor....
what eyes see the meaning of the blind
what tongues listen...which lies
in the picturesque morning
beauty spins its deceptions with golden hued sunlight
weaves its hand puppet theatricals made of
fleeting wisps of smiles
kissing gestures weakly delivered
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor...
they gather round the dead man
some come to mourn the lost
some come to rifle through his pockets
some come to silently wait for their own fate
he sits in his worn chair
in a pool of lamplight
with a small hammer in hand
his spectacles on bridge of his nose
tapping tapping ever so gently the thin metal mask
tinker...tailor...sailor...solider
the uniform of his mind shifts according to his lie
his tool is always the deceptions and misdirections
a sly smile...firm handshake...a signature style
'to whom do you trust' is a phrase that troubles him
her perfume lingers in the air
years have buried the cold war
but not its warriors
not their handiwork
they dress the dead man for his burial
with his decorations and platitudes
with his shiny sword and neat uniform
with honors they lay him
with truths his secret they bury him
why did he do thus....to whom did he answer
to the tomb with his truths and lies
to the tomb
he gathers the long coat
and the umbrella
walks out in london's chill spring night
to a bridge
and throws a small box into the river
long years after the cold war died
these men of shadows still play
these keepers of the gate still watch for hannibal and his horde
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor
whom do you trust
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
she sat on the rocking horse
wearing the soldiers coat he had thrown to her as
he rode away into the smoke and thunder of battle
she pulled it tight to her
like it was a part of him
she had come down from the
north towns to make a new life
in mysterious places with
romantic sounding names
but she lost her money in the river town
and fell in with some dark men
who tried to make her take up in the
***** house
but just as they lead her down
a fair haired lad looking handsome
in his soldiers uniform heard her cries
and saved her
the intensity of her beauty
and the sweetness of her heart
so enchanted him
he asked her to be his wife
he was so wonderful and handsome
she said yes
but a soldiers life called him
to battle and as he rode off
into the smoke and thunder
our precocious girl
sat on the rocking horse
and sang a sweet song
for he had rescued her
in every way a person can be saved
and she was going to be his wife
so careful young maidens
of these carefree wanderings you take
for it was a bright day for her
it is not allways such
take care is all i ask
for the world dose not allways
favour the fair
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC