I witnessed first hand…
The look he had in his failing eyes as life slipped away without a sound
Acknowledging that death had not only knocked twice but also rang the bell
My ears concentrating on the sounds of war not death
The gushing hollow wound in his chest stealing his last deep breaths
His body paralyzed and having been brought to rest
By a loud voiced bullet’s violent resolve
Afraid and silently praying for God to spare him
His cold hands grabbing for earth as his spirit warmed and readied for flight
Just another soul passing into the light
As the large guns fire again and again
Awaiting further command…
War may be hell, but heaven is crowded with soldiers just like him…
2007 © T Sheridan
Your last line says it all - ironically and eloquently. The rest of the poem is an angry and agonized remembrance of all that wasted youth. Powerful penning. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ted, this is one of those genre of yours that hits heart and head with a bang. Thank you. t x