Array ( [sid] => 176221 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Is It Over? [time] => 2013-06-02 10:55:41 [hometext] => Came back to this poem after two years, changed it so hopefully it appears more fluid. Every sentence now rhymes so I hope a better tempo is now current. Enjoy! [bodytext] => I, Gabriel, collect your glorious dead,
Blown off legs, arms and decapitated head.
Take my hand boy and standing here,
Release your weakness that you name fear.
But is pain now over that you are dead?
Does human suffering stop as you have left?

No the hurt continues,
Running through each bone, all sinews.
Bullets still practice their deadly art,
Tearing parents and children apart.
Men, now brothers drop like flies,
Yet not one stops and ever defies.
Death is ever present like centuries before,
Built up by victors, converted to lore.
So I am ever present, my job never done,
I pick out the blind stricken, the confounded, the dumb.
And as you stand here, look around with me,
Now tell me brave soldier what do you see?
There’s your brother tangled on wire,
And there your sergeant blown apart by gun fire.
A soldier falls, one shot to the head,
So tell me liberator, is it better to be dead?
[comments] => 2 [counter] => 105 [topic] => 57 [informant] => bevan [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Is It Over?


Is It Over?
Date: Sunday, 2nd June 2013 @ 10:55:41 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: bevan
I, Gabriel, collect your glorious dead,
Blown off legs, arms and decapitated head.
Take my hand boy and standing here,
Release your weakness that you name fear.
But is pain now over that you are dead?
Does human suffering stop as you have left?

No the hurt continues,
Running through each bone, all sinews.
Bullets still practice their deadly art,
Tearing parents and children apart.
Men, now brothers drop like flies,
Yet not one stops and ever defies.
Death is ever present like centuries before,
Built up by victors, converted to lore.
So I am ever present, my job never done,
I pick out the blind stricken, the confounded, the dumb.
And as you stand here, look around with me,
Now tell me brave soldier what do you see?
There’s your brother tangled on wire,
And there your sergeant blown apart by gun fire.
A soldier falls, one shot to the head,
So tell me liberator, is it better to be dead?


This poem is Copyright © bevan


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