Nothings sacred,
There is no glory,
Just daily shock and awe.
No imagination,
Just wringing emotion,
I suffer this impersonal war.
Preservation, obligation,
Waiting in the night,
Fear consuming, rockets booming,
Future not too bright.
I have no time for idle cares,
Blood shot eyes, vacant stares.
A thousand voices, unearthly groans,
Ungodly, battle noises droan.
Days burn hot, nights much colder,
Breathing faint, I feel much older.
Nervous faces, jaws clenched tight,
Tired bodies have to fight.
All existence has no meaning in this war,
A few more months, I can close this door.
Powerful write this one Philip...A lot of strong images from your words...may those few months pass swiftly and safely for you....thank you...Fi...10+++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Another great poem of reality from another world...this you share and describe from the heart of a hero....thankyou...10++