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Ashwin Kumar Aug 2020
Dear Ronald Bilius Weasley
No matter what others say
I will always be your fan
You are such a marvellous character
Not perhaps, a perfect one
But a character with flaws
So real, and so beautiful
That we can totally relate to it

In your first year at Hogwarts
You played a game of chess
In such a magnificent manner
That even the Russians of the Muggle world
Could not have done any better

In your second year at Hogwarts
You faced your greatest fears
With a courage and nerve
That Godric Gryffindor would have been proud of
For the sake of your best mates

In your third year at Hogwarts
You almost ruined a friendship
For the sake of a rat and a broomstick
But you made amends for it
By standing up to a notorious murderer
That too with a broken leg
Again, for the sake of your best mate

In your fourth year at Hogwarts
Again, there was a misunderstanding
That threatened to derail a strong friendship
But you were there for Harry
When it truly mattered
There was also some ugly ****** jealousy
As your teenage hormones took centrestage
But at least you got an inkling
That you and Hermione
Were made for each other

In your fifth year at Hogwarts
There was a lot you had to put up with
The constant bullying of the Slytherins
Especially during Quidditch matches
The temper tantrums of your best friend
And finally, the evil Dolores Jane Umbridge
Initially, due to your nerves and insecurities
Your Quidditch performances went from bad to worse
But then, you finally showed us
The stuff you were made of
Saving goals left, right and centre
And to cap it all
You bravely fought a dozen Death Eaters
Yet again, for the sake of your best friend

Finally, we come to the war
Due to your never-ending insecurities
And anxiety for your family
Worsened by a dreadful locket
That contained a part of Voldemort's soul
You briefly deserted your best mates
But returned when it mattered the most
Even saving Harry's life in the process
And then, as you destroyed that darned locket
You finally conquered your fears
And transitioned successfully to manhood
Finally, during the Battle of Hogwarts
You showed us your sensitive side
A side that we had never seen before
As you displayed your concern for the house-elves
Precipitating your first kiss with Hermione
Later on, you lost your dear brother
But continued to soldier on bravely
Even standing up to Voldemort himself
Hence, dear Ronald Bilius Weasley
No matter what others say
I will always be your fan
A poem dedicated to one of the best characters in the Harry Potter world - Ronald Bilius Weasley
Ashwin Kumar Mar 29
This poem will celebrate Ronald Bilius Weasley
Harry Potter's best friend and fiercest ally
Smart, funny and mischievous
Not to mention, highly courageous
Sacrificed himself in a wizarding chess game
At the age of merely eleven
Have you seen that happen often?
Of course, haters may not give a dime
But he also faced an army of murderous giant spiders
Merely a year later
Not for nothing, was he placed in Gryffindor!

In his third year, Ron stood on a broken leg
And defended his best mate
Against a convicted mass murderer
Yet, he receives a ton of hate
For his supposed jealousy a year after
Which, in reality, was more of a misunderstanding
How does that make him a negative character?
Don't best friends have occasional misunderstandings
That too in their teens?
Even I, at the age of thirty four, am no stranger to misunderstandings
For a fourteen year old Ron, can you imagine how it must have been?

In his fifth year, Ron showed his nerve and daring yet again
Fighting a horde of Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic
A year later, it was time for some Quidditch magic
As he proved the doubting Thomases wrong in style
Saving goal after goal
And now do we come to the most important part
The second wizarding war played its part
In shaping Ron's journey from teenage to adulthood
Yes, abandoning his friends was certainly not good
But he was carrying a piece of Voldemort's soul
Which increased his insecurities and anxieties to the highest possible level
And once he left the tent
The chances of returning soon became one in a million
Thanks to a run-in with a few of Voldemort's hired minions
As well as the protective charms placed around the tent
However, when Ron ultimately returned
He saved Harry's life
And destroyed the aforementioned piece of soul
Which had reduced his confidence levels to almost nil
In the process, Ron faced his worst fears
Managed to overcome them without even shedding tears
And transitioned from boy to man
As if to show us, "Yes you can!!"

Later, bravely did Ron fight in the Battle of Hogwarts
Even after losing his dear brother so tragically
And stand up to Voldemort himself
Thus showing immense strength of character
Yes, he may have his fair share of haters
However, for me that does not matter
Because Ronald Bilius Weasley will always be my favourite Harry Potter character
Truly, like him can there be no other!!
My favourite Harry Potter character!!
Michelle Mar 2013
Pancakes
-
Pie
-
Apple
-
Green
-
Malfoy
-
Snake
-
Mother
-
Upstai­rs
-
Refrigerator
-
Computer
-
Refrigerator
-
Computer
-
Hunger

Refrigerator
-
Homework
-
Computer
-
Sigh
-
Mouse
-
Rodent
-
Wea­sel
-
Ron Weasley
-
Red
-
Cherry
-
Sundae
-
Hunger
-
Pancakes.


© 3/16/13
Just a note: A circle poem is usually a poem where each word triggers the next, almost like word association... sometimes you try to go as far out as possible to trigger the next word. These poems can display thought patterns, or just simply connect things together. Try it some time- make it as unique as possible, but somehow still connected :)
The title/beginning and the last word have to connect together as well as the words in between. In this poem, I decided to end my poem with the word I started with. You don't have to do it that way -- as long as the first and last words connect, it's fine.
In this poem, I used only nouns to demonstrate my thought process. No revision :)
Anoushka Jain Dec 2014
Dobby's ideas,

Are more of a glitch.

Flesh memories,

Buried in a snitch.

Life is tough,

And such a heavy fight.

When dark times encircle you,

Remember to Turn on the light.

Weasley twins are strong,

More like human beaters

The world is not divided

Into good people and death eaters.

For in dreams,

We enter a world entirely our own.

Turn to page number

Three hundred and ninety four.

Dumbledore smiled,

Everyone has bad days.

Snape replied,

Always.

The people we love,

Leave us never.

The stories we love best,

Do live in us forever.

Cause the books we truly love,

Right back, they love us.

Draco, Dormiens,

Nunquam, Tittilandus.
For all my fellow Potterheads!
XIII Apr 2015
Walk into that crowd
Walk into Hogwarts
Some people wearing formal
A lot in black

But you cannot find Ginevra Weasley
Although you were Harry
Maybe because you've already lost your wand
Or because Ginny could've given you a heart attack
Leah Rae Dec 2012
I Decided That I'm Going To Write A Love Poem About You.*

Something I've Been Battling With For A Long Time, Like A Empty War In My Chest.
I'm Not Sure Who Brought The Trojan Horse Into My Heart And Defiled Me From The Inside Out,

But I Know That I've Decided On The Final Solution..

Some Nuclear Weaponry To End This Once And For All.

I Had This Idea In My Head That Writing A Love Poem About You Would Somehow Make Me Less Of A Poet. Instead Two Quarters Sell-Out, One Half Wannabe, One Seventh Cop-Out, And Now You're Probably Laughing At Me Because There Is No Way That Adds Up To One Whole Of Anything.

But This Is What You've Made Me Into.

We Used To Make Fun of The Girls With Their Boyfriend's Name Tattooed Across Their Collarbones, But Now I'm Sketching Out Your Initials On The Cover Of Every One Of My Notebooks, Wishing It Was My Skin.

And When I Can't Answer The Next Question In Class Because Of You, I Can't Help But Laugh, Because Suddenly I'm The Ridiculous One Now.

And That Makes Me Love You Like I Love Concerts. Being Smashed Against Seven Hundred Screaming Bodies, To Get A Glimpse At The Heartbroken Hero Who Is Singing Just For Me. The Next Morning, Every Single Part Of My Body Is On Fire, And I'd Tell Myself It Was Somehow All Worth It.

Because You See, You're  Somehow All Worth It.

Worth Being Called Every Single Cliche I've Been Battling.

I Pledged When I Was Twelve Years Old That I Would Never Cry Over A Boy. But I've Shed More Tears Between Us Then I'm Capable Of Counting. And Even Openly In Front Of You, Which Is Something I've Never Been Very Good At.

And I've Written Apologies Letters To The Both Of Us, For Not Being Everything I Could Be.

And You've Made Me Want To Make A List Of Our Every Occurrence, July Seventh, 2010,  August 14th 7:53pm, January 19th, October 29th 3:14pm, March 10th, Like A Date Book Of Every Important Moment Because I'm Afraid I Might File Them Away In The Back Of My Mind

And Then Forget Where I Put Them.  

And By Now You've Probably Noticed That I Haven't Been Able To Stick With One Single Metaphor During This Entire Poem And I'm Several Shades Of Scarlet, Because Somehow You Make It Impossible To Be Anything Except A Mess.

And That's Coming From The Girl Who Color Coordinates Her Underwear Drawer.*

You've Also Probably Noticed That My Usual Over Emotional, Polished And Perfect Poetry Of Pretty Words Has Completely Gone Missing In This Piece. And Instead All I'm Left With Is This Awkward Imagery Of Something Much Less Honorable Then What I'm Usually Referencing.

But Somehow I'm Still Smiling.

And I've Been Wearing My Heart On My Sleeve For So Long Now That I Can't Remember What Part Of My Body It Belongs In Anymore. I've Been Listening To Your Voice On Repeat So Often That It Has Became My Soundtrack.

I've Decided To Give My Empty Parts, My Fingertips, My Shoulder Blades To You As Gifts, Make-Shift Wrapped In Newspaper, Because I Didn't Have Anything Else Left.

You Took Them As Yours
Took Me As Yours

Now I Spend Every Night Connecting The Constellations In The Spackle Patterns Of The Ceiling Above My Bed, Wondering What Stars You're Staring At.

And Suddenly This Love Poem Doesn't Feel So Terrifying Anymore.

Because You've Scared Away The Sorrow, Put Hello-Kitty Band-Aids On All My Old Scars.
You Make Me Want To Make You Chocolate Chip Pancakes In Bed And, And, Read Shakespeare For Fun!
Because If I'm Sally, Then You're Jack, Rodger To My Mimi, Princess Buttercup And Wesley, Hermione Granger And Ron Weasley, Allie And Noah..

And Now I'm Rambling.

And You're Probably Smiling Again.

What I'm Trying To Say Is That I Want You To Know That I Will Spend The Rest Of The Forever You Give Me Listening To Your Voice.

Singing In The Shower, Humming In The Back Of My Mind, Whispering It To Me Late At Night, All Those Songs Of Longing.

I'll Lay Wide Awake And Listen, Repeating It Myself How Incredibly Deep You Are.

So Deep I Could Throw Myself Into You And Drown Inside You, Before I Ever Have The Chance To Come Up For Air.

And That Aching In My Chest Would Somehow Make Me Feel Like I Was Finally Home.
Essa Freedom Mar 2015
I didn't find Narnia in my closet
I didn't get my letter to Hogwarts
I didn't get to train as a Jedi
This is my reality
It may not be like yours
That doesn't mean your better then me
You don't know my story
You don't know what I've been though
You only know what I tell you
And what I show
Don't tell me I'm not worth your time
I'm nothing special
Or that I'm a wanna-be you
All you are is a Bully
I didn't chose this life
I am me
I don't want one of you
So I say...
Dear Victims,
Listen to what Ron Weasley said to Neville Longbottom
You're worth a hundred of him
And, Dear Bullies,
Get over yourself
E Copeland Sep 2016
1.      My mother’s mirror makes me look way better than any other mirror. I’m half convinced she put a spell on it or had it blessed to make me feel more beautiful. The way it reflects the light puts green specks in my eyes and a rosy sheen on my cheeks. It makes my hair look softer, my edges smoother. It takes away those fifteen stubborn pounds. I think, maybe, it just reflects my mother’s love.

2.      Red headed boys have it out for me. I have had my heart broken five times and four of those were by red headed boys. **** you, Ronald Weasley for igniting such an infatuation-no, obsession-at such a young age.  It seems that no matter how badly the fire burns, I always seek out another flame.

3.      The people who pass on before us are allowed to paint the sky when they feel like it is needed. Part of your welcome to heaven package is a paint brush. My papaw frequently sends me glorious sunsets and starry nights when he knows I’m feeling sad.

4.      The first time a rough boy put his hands on me, he didn’t do so in a mean way. We were young and he pretended to know what he was doing/pretended that it wasn’t wrong. The second time, he realized he now had control over me.  Though I was never forced, I was manipulated. I do not cry ****, but I still cry.

5.      Growing up Catholic taught me that *** before marriage is wrong. What if part of me thinks *** in general is wrong? What if I can’t take the *** without imaging the unwanted hands all over me? What if my mistakes have made me into an unlovable monster? What if I am too weak to say no to *** and too weak to say yes to love? What if I can fall in love or fall in ***, but never both? 

6.      My mother’s mirror makes me look way better than any other mirror. I know it is because I see my reflection the way my mother sees me: beautiful, strong, unbroken.
Animals of the arcade, Farthing Wood we ain’t
Admissions must be made, not one of us is a saint

A motley crew are we, I suppose it takes allsorts
We share coffee, we share tea and we always share our thoughts

Such different species we all are yet side by side we stand
For even when we’re below par, we are a merry band

The chicken in her chilly room, she feels she’s lost her way
But we all know sunshine or gloom, she delivers every day

The pony keeps us all amused, trotting through the mob
But actually we are quite confused, what exactly is her job?

The wise owl often reads a book to pass the endless hours
She sits and shivers in her nook despite her selling powers

The elegantly pretty deer makes everything seem easy
No matter how she feels when here, she’s always bright and breezy

The deer has an assistant, a sleepy little mouse
Who can be quite persistent as she sells things for the house


And then there is the blackbird feeding everybody’s chicks
Variation is her key word as a future spouse she picks

Last and certainly not the most, the weasley little man
Who acts like he’s the perfect host but cons you if he can

And so each day we all display this animal behaviour
Six happy souls and one convinced he’s our sodding saviour!
raw with love Oct 2014
Hello, my dearest, my loveliest.
I haven't met you just yet - at least not physically, even though I have seen you many times in my future. In fact, I think I'm in love with you already, and it will be really awkward when I meet you, because when I finally do, I will know, in my very heart of hearts that it is YOU. I will remember what I've already seen, and it will feel right to touch you, to look at you. Just hearing your laughter will make me whole. And I will know it's you.
You will know exactly what kind of coffee I want from Starbucks - you won't forget that I prefer soy milk, you'll know exactly how much sugar (brown!) I take, you'll know what name I want written on the cup - and I won't have to tell you. You won't just let me wear your clothes - you'll hide mine, so that I have no other choice but put your shirt on. You'll know how I like my tea - because that's how you like it too. You'll make waffles for breakfast, and I will frown at you for trying to make me fat, and you'll stuff my mouth with waffles to shut me up. When our little flat needs cleaning, you'll turn the volume up, and sing Queen's I want to break free as you vacuum and I wipe the dust. We'll take turns pushing each other in the cart until they throw us out of the supermarket. You'll order pizza (vegetarian, even though you're not one) and download the new Doctor Who episode when I work late, and come home tired and starved. You'll scold me for smoking and for drinking too much coffee, but will secretly make sure there's always instant coffee in the cupboard and a blanket on the balcony for my midnight smokes. You'll kiss my forehead and make me soup and take my textbooks away when I'm overdoing it. You'll teach me how to eat Chinese with chopsticks and you'll order foreign cuisine and eat from the takeaway boxes when you know we're both too lazy to do the dishes. And when we do do the dishes, we'll end up wet and covered in foam every time, because at the end of the day, we're both three-year-olds. You'll fall asleep on my belly as I read The Lord of the Rings aloud to you, and you'll have Harry Potter marathons with me when my exams are over. You'll always beat me at video games and try to spoil me the new comic book issue I haven't had time to read yet, and every time I'm cross with you, you'll start humming The Rains of Castamere, and you'll hang Targaryen banners on our walls when you're trying to please me. And when we feel like it, we'll have karaoke nights, and even though we both can't sing, we'll scream at the top of our lungs until the neighbours come knocking at the door. We'll go travelling and you'll always let me drive, and you'll never get tired of taking pictures of and with me. When the time comes, you'll propose with the One ring, like I've always wanted to. Even my parents will like you, surprisingly. We'll have our catchphrase and our inside jokes, and we'll understand each other with a mere look. You'll like what I write, but will always give me reasons why you like it, so that I always know you're not being biased. You'll find faults, too, and will let me know, and that's how I'll know it's you. We will watch singalong versions of Camp Rock and High School Musical, and sing along we will. And we'll tickle each other breathless, and we'll have surprise pillow fights. We'll always spend Christmas alone, eating takeaway and drinking hot chocolate and we'll have Weasley-style Christmas sweaters. We'll have a Doctor Who themed wedding, like we've both always wanted to. You won't mind me rumbling random unrelated history facts and ranting about biological inaccuracies in books and movies, and you'll join me in my social justice rants.We'll **** wherever - on the floor, on the table, on the couch, in the bathroom, sometimes even on the bed. You'll always take the blanket, and I'll hate it. You'll hate my eggplant lasagna and the way I always kick my shoes off. I'll hate your annoying habit of never ******* the toothpaste top, and always leaving the lights on. But those are things we can live with.
I don't know how you look or what your talent is, or how old your are, or how big your family is. I don't know where you grew up, I don't know you yet, I don't know anything about you. But I know I'll love you to bits, and so will you, and I can't wait to meet you, my loveliest.
Yours always.
Meryl Wisner May 2011
I live in the words of other people.
I come alive as they come off the page.
I fall in love with fictional characters and
There are times when I only know how to feel in song lyrics.

I want to name my son
Fred
after a Weasley king.
I hope he inherits a penchant for trouble
and more heroism than he gets credit for.

Sometimes I feel like Sal Paradise,
and I have nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.

I put girls on pedestals and
have too much of a tendency to
yearn for that green light of East Egg.

I fall for Capulets,
but I wasn’t built for tragedy.
I still believe in happily ever after.
Sam Luna Feb 2015
I've been swimming in the sea for so long
Dehydrated. Exhausted. Hopeless.
The waves are eating me alive
While I try and crane my neck higher and higher to breathe air
The rough and angry waters pull me down like the Devil's Snare
And the only way for its defeat is the touch of your hands,
Pulling me out of the waters
For so many times, I've chosen to let it eat me alive
Like how Ronald Weasley kept on moving while the Devil's Snare swallows him faster
But I think, I am calmer now
It's time to go ashore and rinse myself from the salty and sting-y water.
For you
Meghan O'Neill Apr 2014
The last time that I
Was banished to the
Time Out Corner
It was because
I wouldn't read
I didn't want to read
You couldn't make me read.

Then I met a boy.
He had black messy hair
Bright green eyes
And a scar in the shape
Of a lightning bolt
On his forehead.
He was the boy who lived

Then I met a boy
He had ginger hair
Connect the dot freckles
And hand-me-down robes
He was a Weasley.

Then I met a girl
She had auburn hair
An eager intellect
And muggle parents
She was a mudblood

They hindered the dark lord
They slaughtered the basalisk
They rescued the prisoner
They witnessed the return
They battled the dark arts
They cried for the loss of their leader
They lost and they won.
And they moved on.

They are grown up now
I am out of the
Time Out Corner
And in the library
Constantly
Because I'm always reading
I always want to read
You can't make me stop reading

The boy
The boy
And the girl
Are grown up now.


And I am grown up too.
OnwardFlame Aug 2016
I know a girl
She likens herself to be just like
Ron Weasley's mother
I suspect we may never be friends again now
Considering she now sits on my ex's ****.

Little miss cupcake
Miss Piggy
I peaked at her Facebook out of curiosity
And I remember the exact moment in which
Several months before
Where I thought, "Oh my. Oh my. You aren't my kind of woman."
You had blamed frightening male behavior
On false news reports, perhaps CNN
I remember sitting in a theatre
My phone buzzing a mile a minute
And with little red x's I quietly watched each of these ladies go
I know its not me
Its you
And while I wish no ill will
As you would all turn to look at me for support
When the clan of hoodlums wounded your bones
Perhaps now, now that it directly affects your life
Little missy piggy, miss jenny
Perhaps now you might think.

But its baffling to me
That you can take photos on your phone
Attempt to show your cute social encounters
With the profile of the man that has so
Lavishly wounded not one
But now two, probably 3
(If we include the one that Instagrams her heart break)
Women that have been dangled from a roof
Convicted and imprisoned with falsehood promises of sunshine
Thrown into a waste bin of trickery and fake love
Slept in the trenches of mildew hot sauce
Winnie The Poo and Tiger too
And thought and taught by him
And the others
To be the wretched bad guy in the end

That, that Little Miss
Define yourself through your current surroundings
Your lingerie that you now proudly wear
I don't hate you
I thought you were alright
With your obsession for your cat
The way you decorated your house reminded me of my own style
But if you click and swim in hyperspace
You will see mists of vape smoke
A girl who ran away from me at a party
Because I somehow managed to remind her
Of soggy pasta. Salty shoes. A rusty clamoring voice.
Boyhood mixed with ***** soap
All surrounded by the label
Love.

But just so ya know
He and I
Before I even met you

Oh yeah, we ****** in your bed one time.
alexa May 2018
sorry to bother you but
my belly kind of hurts,
i think it's because i miss you a little
(or a lot)
and i pinky promise
i'm only using the seventh Weasley brother as a distraction.
sweetheart,
do you remember the lovely boy
i met a while ago?
he looks exactly like you but
my love, his eyes shined brighter.
...how could i have let him get away?
originally part of a longer poem but i decided to crop it and edit
Yukon pots sib bully challah me Jude
dish hiss literary panhandler schlepping
along virtual figurative boulevard Asia
brogue kin bloke rattling tin cup aware
how quickly passersby dodge away as
if I got some incurable fatal disease,

which choice donning schnorrer roll
barley bread within these genes, and
leavened during years as flour child,
now dem years, where boyhood
penuriousness found prior once pip
squeak punkish kid, now scavenging

analogous to Dicken's poverty stricken
London), one lone backstreet beastie boy,
(albeit naive, innocent harmless, et cetera),
quite vulnerable to elements (periodically
tabling something wicked that invariably
came my way), but Justine Nick O' Time

plucked me out the maws obviously saving
worse fate than death (still waiting for Godot),
asper living scrounging for measly morsels
to stave off starvation, a smidgen moldy
stale vegetable, way overripe fruit crawling
with maggots (ah...protein), or ziplocked

airtight sweet treat, yet most scouting around
to treasure handful of grub met yours truly
with defeat, especially competing, (asper
survival of fittest), a ratty matted pack of
wild hungry animals (humans indistinguishable
among hordes), and singular primal sounds

comprised soul fully bellowing warning, and
no matter these poor looking mangy ravenous
skin and bones managed mustered guarding
spit of territory issuing threatening guttural
growling, a warning other predators took
seriously otherwise, they (ragtag motley crue

most often banded together) could find their
defiling ranks decreased, the weakest among
scraggly bunch taken down with ease, which
ruthless occasions found yours truly secreting
his bonafide bony hide, lest he get snapped up,
without warning one fell swoop, would mercilessly

clutch this forever pencil necked scrawny geek,
and attempt squeezing livingsocial daylights,
but not without fighting spirit, ("FAKE" Irish
seeps out), perhaps suffering minor cuts and
bruises, whereat remembrance, when long dip
hearted dearly mother enforced telling extremely

shy lad (barely resembling wasted weasley wobegon
whippersnapper scratching out illegible words
writ with blood (tragi-comic farcical ploy)
imagining philanthropic stranger whisking
(after sharing whiskey) one speck of flotsam

within jetsam amidst whirled wide web deriving
cold comfort (southern, when heading to warmer
clime during) bitterly cold nasty not so short winter
(lasting a bajillion years) hankered when sizzling
dog days o' summer return with vengeance.
Though your true blue stated civilian
never enlisted nor impressed,
nonetheless I own an opinion
originally embarked on poetic quest
to express purposelessness,

when soldiers rest
at peace i.e. eternally,
many attired courtesy
smart uniform strong with zest.

Psyche steeped, macerated, brewed
as token scapegoat, cue
trumpets Don to toot
courtesy more'n one
nasty shortish brute

weasley chastened me
round mulberry bush
said monkeys chased scaredy
cat me... point moot
regarding... rung me

ragged standing astute
adjacent Thomas Jonathan
"Stonewall" Jackson
(Confederate general during
American Civil War),

his own troops accidentally
fired on him during
Battle of Chancellorsville
in Virginia doth not compute
"friendly fire" unleashed during

one among many hot pursuit
part and parcel of wars,
since time immemorial
gung ** practiced soldier and/or
scared cat neophyte unwittingly shoot

pellets traveling speed of
sound bullet out - gunmetal chute
ordinarily pardoned distinct mistake
versus homicide statute
nonetheless...about

thee (rhetorical question), wherefore
art thou purpose to war,
those slain now paid tribute
since major hostilities of
World War I formally

ended at 11th hour of 11th
day of 11th month of 1918
yet... I question military conflicts
battle hymns constitute
legacy e'er since ****

sapiens stood *****,
many soldiers of misfortune,
sons of destitute
versus wealthy heirs accepted perception
that war was "a rich man's war

and a poor man's fight"
countless generations ago
deserters fate would mean execute
"the *******," even second decade
into twenty first century

once sworn in at basic training,
getting discharged (***** luck), but absolute
zero tolerance quitting before
duty commitment desertion flagrant violation,
no easy task leaving service minus
tribunal meeting severe to prosecute,

thus joining military unlike
accepting any other job
punishment greater than Das boot,
yet patriotism, née jingoism
not ideal, viz conflict resolution,
verstehen, or did this wordsmith convolute?

— The End —