Thundering

Yep...

Thundering

 

I sit here, head under covers

Artillery goes thundering

My daddy's fighting in the war

And here I'm sitting, wondering.

Will Dad come home? Will he be safe?

Will he come back in a black bag?

And as I think this, Mom comes in--

"Get up, please; I don't mean to nag."

I stand up, glassy eyed, and say,

"Will we see ever see Dad again?

"I hear the cannons from right here--

"I think I hear the dying men."

A tear slides slowly down Mom's face,

She looks away and sighs and cries,

"I'm sorry, child, your father's dead

"He was hit right between the eyes."

My strength is gone, my will is sapped

But soon I feel a burning heat

"I'll kill the men that shot my Dad--

"And Mom, you'll get a front row seat."

Author's Note

Sad, and thankfully not true.

Reviews

[Tanya]

Wow, that is truely sad but must be happening to many people. i'm glad you cna write something so powerful, even if you don't relate. great.

[Legion]

Glad it isn't true. I liked the poem. You wrote it well. But somewhere along the line, the retaliation must stop. It is an endless cycle of revenge. It creates nothing but more mayhem and madness. Definetly sad. Good work though.