Short in stature,
long in fight,
the zealot stood his ground
The odds unfavored,
no end in sight,
victory still unfound
The daylight haunting,
the body count,
the field a sea of blood
A bugle blowing
for one last charge,
advancing through the mud
With force depleted
but spirit whole,
his voice heard far and wide…
"Into the jaws
of certain death
—for glory now we ride"
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September,2020)
This is an exceptional piece of work. It flows so nicely with fierce imagery and continuity. Worthy of more than ten stars!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good one. Reminds me of the good the bad the ugly after the bridge was blown and soldiers went for each. Beautiful carnage. A lot of wasted men. Ever watch it?