Title: War
by Colin from Scotland | in writing, poetry
The gun is silent, the men are dead.
And all around the field is red.
The cries of the wounded
Clot up the air,
As fast and as fleeting, as a hunted hare.
Yet one strong voice,
Though cracked and weeping.
Up the battle-cry, he is still keeping.
He cries for his friends,
Whose spirits now roam.
But most of all,
He cries for home
I was watching the news and some pictures came up of a woman crying over the dead body of her son, and I thought 'This shouldn't be happening'
Comments