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Why Must We Write an Elegy

Page history last edited by Volkes_Wagon 13 years, 11 months ago

Blood is blood is blood

Dripping from unattended wounds. Squelching in the mud

My boots are blue. Mind! The sight of a boot, sud-

colored, patches of gray showing through the mud

and all that blood

Be it brother, father, or son, your son, the tender young bud

about to bloom, risen with all that care, I swear, this isn't what I intended--


Point that black gun, poised on your arm, hold it steady,

poisoned bullet makes poisoned wound, make it ready,

wait and watch his eyes flare, his mouth open, his arm rising slowly,

and shoot when his hand tells you to--tells you as it falls, free

from thinking, free from crying, falling free

Yet still aching, falling as we, the soldiers, we, the aimers, we

shoot. The bullets whiz regardless, heartless, heedlessly

Boring into the flesh and mind and soul of the liberty tree.


Weren't we fighting

for it? The liberty tree. As I lay, with my stomach cold against the pit, filling

with all that mud and blood, watching

all these young souls, for indeed they were so many so young, flailing

Twisting, thrashing as their last breath leaves them, releasing

their silly souls, it's hard to believe that we are, indeed, fighting

for the liberty of a thousand more poor souls.


The commander's silken white glove has fallen.


The children run across the field, blindly stepping on mine after mine.


The little cross is pointed at its target.


Father! someone once cried, why can't I hear it, why can't I remember it.



Comments (2)

Mokona Go said

at 7:02 pm on Mar 24, 2010

cuz' they are a type of poem

Volkes_Wagon said

at 10:10 pm on Mar 24, 2010

*shock. omgoodness thats true.

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