 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 11-June 06:32:23 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 165264
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => hesitant hero
[time] => 2011-03-13 13:11:55
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Mud and timber walls they shake, the pounding thuds and cracks my core no roof upon, in cratered fields their colour pounded long before. I look down at my mug of tea and watch the ripples circle in artillery, it knows no end. My head drops, resting on my chin. I close my eyes and think of sunshine, fields of green and sky's of blue. I turn whilst lying in a meadow. sitting, resting, next to you. The sound of children sweetly playing. Splashing, paddling in the stream. This future wish, it comforts me then I am jostled from this dream. The whistle blows, we gather round for orders barely heard through pounds and bangs and screams, mud splashes dance we must attack, we must advance I line up next to Harry, he winks I check my bayonet is fixed small ladders pressed against the walls when we advance it must be quick I swallow hard but throat is dry now energised I'm too awake above us, we know what to do enemy lines we must now take. We're off, I'm up and sprinting wildly. Feet can't purchase. Nothings flat. My boots and gear, they are too heavy. Not even an acrobat could tame this land and run on swiftly, my feet sink and then I roll. This is my luck as gunfire opens mechanically engineering fall's The whistle blows, my head is down. Desperate. Clutching at the ground. The crack of gunfire drops in trance, there's some success from our advance. Trying so hard to look so hurried, I get up late in desperation. Sprinting forward hoping comrades did not see see my hesitation. Fallen soldiers littered, silent Harry there, his body opened. Life removed within a moment. I apologise. It is a token I drop into the captured gun trench the Maxim held by three as spoils. The lads are jubilant, relieved My stomach slowly lifts from coils. Nobody noticed my tardiness. At least that is what I had thought, but Kelly gave me such a look. Silence from him was all I hoped. No whistle now. My head is down. I seek comfort from the ground. Silence doesn't stand a chance as artillery renews it's stance. Behind me the cheers they fall silent as pounding, it starts up again. I look down at my hands , their shaking. They tell me I'm at my whit's end. For I was not built for this madness. No enjoyment gained from this test. I think of Harry dressed in entrails, maybe he's glad of the rest. Kelly winks at me, pats my back but I can see within his eyes that at the crucial point, next attack, he doubts with vigour I will rise. Tonight I will write you a letter telling you things are all right, and we will all be home by Christmas you count the days, darling. Sleep tight. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 123 [topic] => 57 [informant] => poeticjestix [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => war )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com