My mornings are always broken
It's raining razor blades again
Bombs are falling, made of cotton wool
Oh it's sad, it's another broken morning
Another morning has broken
See the crows have taken my eyes
My imagination is still fertile
As my physical being subsides
The morning is crying
Stuck in my cocooned being
My mornings are painful
Never knowing never seeing
It's raining again
Razor blades burn
The pain resides
As the sunshine returns
I'm in a catch 22
Contradiction is rife
Barb wire shoes
Left left
Right right
Another morning has broken
It's raining who am l?
Can I ask the question
Does the sun ever cry
Razor blades are falling
With a cotton wool bomb
I can't remember
I shall not remember
That day I died on the Somme
Would it have been different
Had I'd rested in peace
Than to suffer every morning
In a bloodied worn out fleece
Bombs are falling! ! ! With the wickedness of mankind on earth. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Deeply touched by this poem Mark