A Soldier's Wounded SoulA Poem by Frantzou
A wounded soul
Putrid smell of decaying human flesh fills my lungs
while their tortured grieving souls stand and watch
as bugs slowly eat away their rotting flesh
The bitter taste of dirt and dust become my diet
feeding my lanky livid body smeared with blood
for another round of extermination
I watch the wounded cry in agony
while they deteriorate before their own eyes
envious of the world they left behind
I tighten my teeth
as the blindfolded bullet penetrates my innocent skin missing my heart
instead wounding my soul
sometimes I wonder why?
© 2010 Frantzou
AboutMy style of writing poetry is a little different. My poems mostly inspired by photography, and music. A picture is worth a thousand words and I love find the words within the photo. Frantzou Fleur.. more..
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