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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:08:01 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 166223
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Heart of War
[time] => 2011-05-07 07:01:50
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The morning stood still on its haunches. Waiting for the charge of Father sun at the reins of the day, It waits in it's God given beauty, for something to happen. Three and twenty horses did go by and disturb the tired dirt that so silently lay upon the crumbling earth. The riders, clad in gray and sporting life-takers, sat sullen. Both sides stood to attention and, as if seeing this, the sun also rose and brought upon the blue and gray uniforms a most wonderful light that did seem out of place in this wreck-less war. But the young soldiers basked. Nature was used to this war and the birds sat in their tall homes and saw the dark circles in those poor wretches' eyes. Some without limbs, did wonder, how they shall fire their rifles. Maybe they won't get to? Both sides stood to attention, surging with hatred for each others cause. But, there was no cause, no cause for this bloodshed and the pointless slaying of such innocent lambs. No, civility had nothing to do with it. Surging with hatred given to them by powerful men who sit with devilish minds and pursue a cause that has lost it's appeal. And the young soldiers do suffer, like a horse suffers a fat riders weight, the ignorance of such calculating men. These Boys!, blue and gray, could share thoughts on fishing or farming, or perhaps a pastime that both, North and South, enjoy! What a stab at fat, calculating men it would be if these boys were to drop arms and enjoy the July heat. Father sun did not rise in order to throw light upon such heartless suffering! The civil battle commences with a charge. The birds must scatter as cannon fire wrecks their tall homes. They fly up like the souls of the dead. Three and twenty horses now lie dead with their riders strewn like straw in a stable. Three days did pass, each as relentless as the last. Tis the gray boys who accept the loss and move on, their wounded and dead in tow. These, broken braves, walk wearily through discarded friends and empty promises. Such bloody images do drive mighty men to misery and madness! What does the South want now? Is it more fighting? Does the North even wish it? Like spoiled blood, they marched through the main artery of War's black and rotten Heart. It beats to the rhythmic cries of the dead and dying. The North boys wish nothing of the sort. Having watched the grays retreat they saw fear in their eyes and their movement. Fear was in the dust even. Aye, the greys saw in the blue boys' body's, fear as well. Fear must end! Oh, Gettysburg! Ye know not of beauty now. Thou lies broken, in death and ruin. Let the gray and blues sing songs for ye and let them soothe you oh Gettysburg! The life-taking metal that rests upon your innocent body will be lifted soon. Take heart and remember the battle, oh Gettysburg!, please remember the slain. Let them not be in vain! They, who were on different sides, now share pastimes in the great beyond. They are friends there. Hatred has no place there and the broken trees have grown and the metal has been lifted off great Gettysburg. Gettysburg, that could have been home to those gray and blues. I know not of war, but please, don't think me unaware of War's Black Heart, for that is no heart at all! [comments] => 2 [counter] => 146 [topic] => 57 [informant] => Natkingcole [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war )
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