The Aftermath of War

This is just a poem that got me thinking about life.

The air was riddled 

With the sounds of war:

The sounds were brittle

And wounded and marred

Themselves into the soldiers' hearts, 

Till bangs and booms

Were all they heard,

Till dusk, till noon,

Throughout their hearts 

Echoed the sounds of war.

Thousands fell upon the field,

With vacant eyes and parted lips,

And broken bones, and broken shields

That fell far from their grips, 

Till canvasing the ground

Were painted tokens,

And bodies that bound

Mothers and wives forsaken,

Framing a bloodied field 

Littered with a thousand broken.

Reviews

[Tim]

I think anyone who has read about war can agree this represents anywar you can think of.

Well done.