xalmostgoldenx
07-26-2007, 12:11 PM
Another poem I wrote when I was 16.
Father always told me as I sat upon his knee,
Grandad was the one who fought, he fought to set us free.
The courage of the British men, marching, united as one,
Heros standing together, anxiety and fear long gone.
***
The passion and the patricism kept them battling through,
There weren't men looking for fame, they did what they had to do.
They dreamed of a peaceful place, without the brutality of war,
A dream of live, a dream of hope, a dream worth fighting for.
***
And as the drums began to fade, the glamour and the excitement were gone,
These ordinary men who fought for us, what made them carry on?
The stench of fear, the bang of gunshot, the horrified shouts of men,
The only bit of light relief was putting paper to pen.
***
The girls at home, waiting for them,
grasping any scrap of news,
The idea that people weren't getting hurt, it was all just a glamorous rouse.
Their families were still close to their hearts, in crumpled black and white,
It was us they did it for, wives and sons were their reason to fight.
***
Five years were spent on those battlefields, trying in vain to win,
They did it for human beings alike, for our creed and our kin,
"We won," Grandad says, "we fought like men, not mice."
Yet in his smile there are wrinkles, deep lines of sacrifice.
Father always told me as I sat upon his knee,
Grandad was the one who fought, he fought to set us free.
The courage of the British men, marching, united as one,
Heros standing together, anxiety and fear long gone.
***
The passion and the patricism kept them battling through,
There weren't men looking for fame, they did what they had to do.
They dreamed of a peaceful place, without the brutality of war,
A dream of live, a dream of hope, a dream worth fighting for.
***
And as the drums began to fade, the glamour and the excitement were gone,
These ordinary men who fought for us, what made them carry on?
The stench of fear, the bang of gunshot, the horrified shouts of men,
The only bit of light relief was putting paper to pen.
***
The girls at home, waiting for them,
grasping any scrap of news,
The idea that people weren't getting hurt, it was all just a glamorous rouse.
Their families were still close to their hearts, in crumpled black and white,
It was us they did it for, wives and sons were their reason to fight.
***
Five years were spent on those battlefields, trying in vain to win,
They did it for human beings alike, for our creed and our kin,
"We won," Grandad says, "we fought like men, not mice."
Yet in his smile there are wrinkles, deep lines of sacrifice.