War reporter

A tribute poem i made, honoring the reality of journelists underfire

 

 

Twisting cruel memories

My friends, they have shown me

A way i can doubt my feelings

 

Smiling towards this village

Men wait to pillage

On my weak knees, im kneeling

 

Take a photograph, now leave me alone

Smile at me, for this world ive known

 

War torn towns, past seiged cities

Why dose war look so pretty

Left my hand, so you'll understand

 

"Where have you been, its been so long"

Bombed out streets where flak jackets belong

The ravens song

Echoed the wartime gong

 

In my room i sit, a kind candle is lit

On my grave you spit, finding where i fit

 

Running down the hill, i think my camera knows

The whiskey spills, thats what the photo shows

 

Chopper fans hiding in the sand

Only my dead friends understand

Run if you can, come back if your a man

 

Wartime hotels, this is my home

The people here are locked in stone

Life time loans, i need to be alone

 

The war reporter searches for more

Drug bound laugh, and smiling w****s

This is where you'll be

     Kind friend, war junkie

 

"I won't leave this place, even if i could"

You said i would, i know i should

Thats what i said, passed out in your bed