War

War

A Poem by R.M.C

The stench of death

Hangs heavy in the air;

Death is the smell of my breath

And of my dirty unwashed hair.

They smell us drawing near,

A haze of pungent smell;

In return we smell their fear

For we will send them to hell.

Death is supposed to be a cloaked tall figure

Who takes you gently in your sleep;

But it’s the stab of a knife, the pull of a trigger,

By scared boys who run to their slaughter like sheep.

With courage and pure purpose at heart,

They swarm forth like an avenging flood;

Over the dead and through pools of blood,

They scream “To death, sentenced, thou art!”

They did Great Britain proud,

Allowing us to live life our way;

As heroes, as saviours, I pronounce thee crowned,

And hope we don’t have to do the same someday.

© 2016 R.M.C


Author's Note

R.M.C
Wrote this when I was fifteen, wanting to just say something since I felt really grateful for everything the soldiers did in WW1 and 2. This is a poem from one of my poetry books. Any comments are appreciated.

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Added on February 20, 2016
Last Updated on February 27, 2016


Author

R.M.C
R.M.C

North-East England , United Kingdom



About
I am a teenager from England, hoping to become an author - of poetry and different types of Novels. I also aspire to acquire a business enterprise (possibly through money earned from being an author) .. more..

Writing
Golden bullet Golden bullet

A Poem by R.M.C