Remembrance

This is definently one of my favorite and best poems

Rapid fire gunning,

Hell to pay if we go running.

Muddy trenches make a bog,

Smoke and snow thick as fog.

 

Blood must run to show our might,

Friends and foes now must fight.

This bloody war to end all wars,

Fought in crimson forests and moors.

 

The sergeant beside me moans,

His voice hidden by a tank’s groans.

“Thank you for that dollar lent,”

He fakes a smile and sighs, his years now spent.

 

He lies like many others,

All in death forever brothers.

A patch of green in his own blood,

Staining his life into the mud.

 

And still he held tight

To that picture, his light.

The blurry photo of his wife and child,

Their smiles bright, their faces mild.

 

Crazy Eyes, we all called him,

Though his mismatched eyes now grew dim.

I rise to take another shot,

One more pack of bullets is all I’ve got.

 

But suddenly my vision’s slurred,

My eyes tears have blurred.

I see my mother, her eyes, like mine, have begun to glisten,

Maybe I should have listened.

 

To her words so calm, so cool,

Telling me not to be a fool.

This life we’re living is all we’ve got,

Whether we like it or not.

 

But I went anyway

And now beside Death himself I lay.

It was not the, “Tour de France,” as they had said,

But a realm where men perished and bled.

 

But that memory of the solemn girl with twisted braids

That I see in my mind’s eye never fades.

Her supposed friends never kept their word

And now it was time for her to pick up her sword.

 

Belgium is her lonely name

And because of this betrayal she will never be the same.

From her blue eyes poured regretful tears

For those who lost their last years.

 

Her beloved poppy fields, from once rose sleepy hazes,

Now became deadly mazes.

Suddenly, like the silence screaming,

A voice entered my dreary dreaming.

 

There rose a song, a hymn,

Just as the twilight grew dim.

To think above all this murder and sin

A voice could rise over the din.

 

To a melody we all knew,

The words so pure, so true.

The bullets stopped raining

And the song’s choir began gaining.

 

Not only in English was it heard,

But German, French, and Dutch word.

That soothing sound

Lulled me as I lay murmuring on the bloodied ground.

 

“Silent Night,”

“Heilige Nacht,”

“Alles is kalm,”

“Tout est clair.”

 

And among the clearing haze

I know I saw her singing with them, her eyes ablaze.

Belgium turned to me as she silently wept

For those promises left unkept.

 

And she faded with the mist

Her cheeks dappled red, tear kissed.

And until she was merely a sliver

Her sword flashed the purest silver.

 

Every year on Christmas night

I clench my dog-tags tight

And remember that sight

As I sing, “Silent Night...”

Author's Note

This is part of my book, "The Flames of War," but I wrote it originally for a Literature assignment. I think I got a 98 or something.... But anyway! Any feedback/criticsm is greatly appreciated!

Reviews

[Nicole]

Very good. Your rhythm and tone are very consistent. Perfectly executed! :)

[NicoRide]

X'D
Such a good poem. It tells a story. A very pretty story! X'3
I LOVE IT, DA!!!!

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful war poem. You told the tale with skill and truth. Last words are usually kind and seeking some kind of forgiveness. I like the use of may cultures in the poem. War effect all people. When hate is alive and well. Old world is in trouble. Thank you for the outstanding poem.
Coyote

[Robert Haigh]

A poignant write...all the more so as it is based on true events.

[shardsofFrance]

Wow this is really good