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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 20:24:06 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 49222
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Marching
[time] => 2004-05-26 15:37:31
[hometext] => what inspired me to write this was revolutionary war battles
[bodytext] => Marching. He goes. Freezing. In his ragged clothes. Marching. He goes. To meet his death. Marching. He fixes his bayonet. Cold fingers trembling. Marching. He looks around. Fear and courage. Fight for control. Inside of him. Marching. He is short of ammunition. Wearing not shoes. But, cloth tied around his feet. Marching. He is so hungry. Having already ate. His meager share of food. Marching. He casts his gaze. Upon the enemy. Marching. He comes closer yet. Seeing the bright red coats. And well groomed faces. Marching. He stops. Loads. Aims. Fires. His first and last shot. His only struggle For freedom. His only stand. Against his oppressors. Lying. In the bed. Of the makeshift hospital. With no left arm. And internal bleeding. He wonders. If his shot. Made a difference. Wonders. If liberty and freedom. Will truly prevail. As he closes his eyes. One last time. He peacefully dies. Off. To march. His final march. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 188 [topic] => 57 [informant] => Troubadour [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war )
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