From the front line

A poem about war, a poem about life, a poem about death.

From the front-line

Dear friend,

It' s day again on the frontline.

Planes still fighting overhead.

Gunfire and explosions everywhere.

Last night was terrible, a man was in front of me.

I was so scared.

I had to put a bullet in his head.

 

Dear friend,

Life here is worth less than a quid.

The man I shot the other day

Was just a twelve years old kid.

They threw his body in a hole

And covered it with mud and clay.

He died, I died a long ago.

I died when I started to fight this war.

 

Dear friend,

It's me again from the frontline.

Blood is everywhere,

Death doesn't need much time.

She needs just a second

To take years from our life.

Death has no pride

As much as the evils who strikes her upon other people lives.

 

People who do wars!

You and your whole clan of evil.

Faces with fake smiles.

Lives with no soul.

Eyes with no hope.

All evil must die!

Hail to the king!

The king is dead!