seacosmos
Notable Member
- Apr 22, 2017
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I believe this is my second poetry post. This one is a war poetry written for a competition. It's just a first draft but, yeah.
Bullets
War Poem by LaurenDmm300 , Verified Fangirl
A patient is before me,
And I’m trying my best.
He’s been shot,
A bullet lodged in his chest.
I’ve seen a lot just like him.
They always have these small,
Metallic, silver gunpowder containers
Lodged somewhere in them.
Sometimes it’s the head,
Sometimes it’s the chest,
Sometimes they get it in their stomach,
Or maybe it ends up in their arm.
Why do they do this?
Why do they risk their lives?
My son, he went off with them.
He said it was because, as a man,
He had to serve to protect his country.
The other day I saw him.
Well, it was his body being brought in,
But it was him nonetheless.
He’d been shot,
Just like all the others.
When I lay to sleep that night,
I remember all my memories
Which I shared with my son.
I cried for him.
Beside my bed, on my desk,
There sat an envelope.
It had been addressed to me,
From my husband, Roger.
I opened it,
And as tears flooded my eyes,
I read.
In it, he said,
“Love of my life, Emily,
I sit here, blood staining my uniform,
Writing to you as gunshots
Ring in my ears.”
In it, he said,
“I must go.
I must bid you farewell,
For my time has come.”
In it, he said,
“I am sorry.
Please forgive me.
Goodbye.”
And at the end,
A drop of tear
Told me he’d been crying.
So I cried for him, too.
I cried for my son,
The strong soldier.
I cried for my husband,
The great general.
But most importantly,
I cried for the people
Sacrificing their lives in a war,
When they could be happy at home,
Spending time with their family.
I cried for the people
Trying so hard to revive
Only to find their patient was
Already dead.
I cried for the people
Who hid under planks,
Trying to disappear from sight,
Just so they could get out
Of this danger zone.
I cried until I could cry
no more.
Bullets
War Poem by LaurenDmm300 , Verified Fangirl
A patient is before me,
And I’m trying my best.
He’s been shot,
A bullet lodged in his chest.
I’ve seen a lot just like him.
They always have these small,
Metallic, silver gunpowder containers
Lodged somewhere in them.
Sometimes it’s the head,
Sometimes it’s the chest,
Sometimes they get it in their stomach,
Or maybe it ends up in their arm.
Why do they do this?
Why do they risk their lives?
My son, he went off with them.
He said it was because, as a man,
He had to serve to protect his country.
The other day I saw him.
Well, it was his body being brought in,
But it was him nonetheless.
He’d been shot,
Just like all the others.
When I lay to sleep that night,
I remember all my memories
Which I shared with my son.
I cried for him.
Beside my bed, on my desk,
There sat an envelope.
It had been addressed to me,
From my husband, Roger.
I opened it,
And as tears flooded my eyes,
I read.
In it, he said,
“Love of my life, Emily,
I sit here, blood staining my uniform,
Writing to you as gunshots
Ring in my ears.”
In it, he said,
“I must go.
I must bid you farewell,
For my time has come.”
In it, he said,
“I am sorry.
Please forgive me.
Goodbye.”
And at the end,
A drop of tear
Told me he’d been crying.
So I cried for him, too.
I cried for my son,
The strong soldier.
I cried for my husband,
The great general.
But most importantly,
I cried for the people
Sacrificing their lives in a war,
When they could be happy at home,
Spending time with their family.
I cried for the people
Trying so hard to revive
Only to find their patient was
Already dead.
I cried for the people
Who hid under planks,
Trying to disappear from sight,
Just so they could get out
Of this danger zone.
I cried until I could cry
no more.
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