Our Death March

Prisoners, this is what we are. We are captives

in this wretched existence, with its daily trials,

its everyday torment. We survive today in order

to get to tomorrow, and we survive tomorrow to

reach the next day. We are on this relentless march

to our doom. We have no choice, forward or die.

In reality, what more are our lives but journeys to

our deaths? What is this life, but a death march?

Reviews

[Kristina Moulaison]

Ouch...tell it like it is, why don't ya. Harsh but a vivid description of this truth of our mortality and how it hits us sometimes, cold and hard and unrelenting. Forward or die, I liked that. At first it seemed incongruent in the poem, since we are going to our death anyway in this doomed scenario, but it is in the going forward that we choose to live and not lay down and let life overcome us, succumbing to our fate. The March to Bataan photo makes this all the more poignant, imagining the will it required to keep walking. What inner fortitude that would take. It makes me wonder how long it would take me to lay down, why in so many ways I am laying down now.

[ts3]

Short and on point. Very good. Enjoyed it enough to share!

[Cleavlnd Groves]

I like it. It's very true, and strikes a chord with me. I hate to be a nitpick, though, but there is one small detai that is bugging me; The comma in "We are in this relentless, march to our doom" shouldn't be there... Sorry but that was bugging me. Otherwise, it is perfect, though.

[Creepy Swine Guy]

Thank you very much. You were absolutely on point. That comma had to go. Nice catch. Thank you.

[icelandicblue]

There are days that I feel myself on this path. I understand this poem and I pray that there is more. No one want to live like this but so many do. The picture looks like the March to Bataan, is it?

[Creepy Swine Guy]

Yes ma'am, it is the march to Bataan. thank you so much for visiting. We have to remember that our destination is death, so we better find bits of beauty to sustain us on our journey, no matter HOW difficult the march.