The photograph has unfolded No color in its view. A testament to destruction Of a world with no hue. A Saint stands unmoving Atop the cathedral spire. But below his feet of marble Is the deathbed of the Fire: The apartments and department stores All gutted by its rage. A beautiful berg in Saxony Wiped off the world stage. Yet the Saint remains untouched By the mighty fire's rage. To all the victims of the Dresden bombing, 1945 and to peace.
The Ukranian woman stares at me, Her child warped in misery. The soldiers march in iron hats, And the old man starving chases rats. To a child they give the **** of a beast, So that he and his brother may have a feast. A peasant-capped man sits on the curb, His eyes ahead, devoid of nerve. The Ukranian woman stares at me, Her child warped in misery. Dedicated to all those who died during the German occupation of Kharkov, Ukraine, during WWII. You are not forgotten.
I like this one. Its short length adds more emphasis and power on what was said. Once again, i like it a lot..
Nice, I agree with what KrazyDimond said - it's relatively short length adds to the power and emotion of the poem. Nice job, again.
Prokhorovka - The trenches - the Dirt - The smoke rising in the distance Where daily - with Death we flirt - Shattered hulks - remnants of tanks - Among which we stand - no to give thanks But to rest - in the smoking shadows of existence - And dream of the River - to bask on its banks So soft and wet with grass - beneath A jeweled sky we'd sit - And listen to the songbird sing Instead of waiting to be hit By death's random method. All it would seem Is for us to remember - Float away on a beam - Of sunshine - Shooting through the death grey clouds Like a spear - into the night - Instead - among the shattered hulks - we crowd To take a few breaths before proceeding Onward - to the End - Be it Death - or Victory - Pray that the Light does not diminish.
The dull thing sizzled in my hand. My mind panicked - turned white - And without thinking I threw it over The edge of safety - into the fight - No more bullets - no more brains - Nothing but a weary - anxious - Hand monster - seeking death From its master - Infectious - Sharing its spoils amongst those Unlucky enough to catch its random method - And partake in its misery - Ending its world with a bang. Indifferent to number - speech - or creed - Fabricated to only perform the deed Of a hundred angry metal flies - Indifferent to crop - shade - or seed. Without need - without want - Without inspiration - Could this last ditch effort Restore a shattered nation? Moreover, shatter it futher - What was it like when you vanished Into thin air - Splattering apparition - Joy or Despair? Do you know that which you took with you? Do you care? (Of course not - absurd.)
