The Broken Birds of War

December 26, 2010

 

This work is a poem based on my imagination of an Allied soldier during WWII walking alone on the road into occupied Nazi Germany and is shot by a sniper.

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Like a black panther I strolled,
Amidst the rubble and destruction of cold.
The ruined buildings gaping their ugly mouths like personified monsters,
With speckled bullet holes smeared on those damned fretters.
Lamenting that they only were witness and victims of war and bloodshed,
Oh, the bloody landscape dead.


The clouds swept in pain away,
The beautiful colours of the mighty sky shyed away.
Corpses of civilian and enemy soldiers littered the floors of hard-masoned roads,
My Thompson was steady in my arm's code,
My eyes and ears flickered and frowned,
At the slightest of sound.


A beautiful country it was,
A white small spark-like flash comes from the window nearby,
A sound of something fast defy.
A second frozen,
Stark realisation that it was I who was chosen,
Followed by the other split,
Of I falling to the ground and warm blood gushing out of my outfit.
Now shall be into abodes of that steep venture,
the journey of the final adventure.


A beautiful country it was,
A country full of snipers.
My green-netted helmet beside me rolled
I need not of it now, let it roll.


My withering mother shall hear of my embrace to the sister of sleep,
Shots of rifles will welcome her to my funeral.
I thy soldier, serving my country,
I would love to serve my country,
But this shall by last doubt and regret:
Was my life for the beloved country or its rulers?


I and these corpses are not the birds that get stoned.
It is the loves at our homes who are the broken birds of war.

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