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Array
(
[sid] => 163061
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Fight For The Morning
[time] => 2010-11-05 14:58:57
[hometext] => My interpretation of how someone must have felt, laying in no man's land during World War I, waiting to be rescued.
[bodytext] => Come folding mist Hide me in a blanket of hope That these scavengers of war do not find me To succumb to the final cold steel of a general's reaper I lay silent, abandoned to the whim of destiny's wheel To be crushed under it and become the rubble of conflict Or return, exalted, slayer of the minions of tyranny Loyal disciple to the cause I seek no immunity from tirade of bullets that hail down in our waking hours Or the blast of shell that rips all bone and flesh Prayers whispered for fading light, for this mud soaked nightmare to subside That I may be reclaimed, sutured and redeployed On the barren, undignified field of valor Cold earth and empty eyes my companions in blood soaked pauses Pierced by the wailing sirens of death Red pools swelled with rainwater Surround these pale, bloated corpses Mere boys whose eyes shone with the birth of adventure Now dulled with the fixed stare of a life used and spent. Faint, childlike voices swim through the twilight Pain calls my mind to surrender to sleep For the family I left in the green fields of England I will fight for the morning through the longest of nights [comments] => 5 [counter] => 358 [topic] => 57 [informant] => puppy_dog_eyes [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 20 [ratings] => 4 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war )
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