PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Yeah, i know this is full of cliches, but what the hay.( Oops another one)



I hate it being on point.

My guts they go so tight.

I don"t know what i"ll do,

if i really have to fight.



I creep along the path,

the jungle is so dense.

There is hardly any noise

and the heat is so intense.



My shirt sticks to my back

and my eyes are stung with sweat.

There is not any part of me

that is not soaking wet.



My nerves are jingling bad.

This fear of mine"s a sin.

It must not take control,

i cannot let it win.



I manage one more step,

when the heavens start to rain.

Then Hell joins in as well

and i feel a piercing pain.



My eyes are wide with shock

as my body hits the ground.

The sky is bright, lit up,

in a cacophony of sound.



My fingers feel my blood

and it fills me full of dread.

I am losing so much now

that soon i will be dead.



I have just become a number,

a statistic for the press.

Or even propaganda

to end this bloody mess.



My tour of dutys over.

I did my country proud.

Now they send me home

covered in a shroud.



This small town boys a hero.

Around my toe a tag.

my only badge of honour

inside this body bag.



i"d been here twenty weeks,

a war had to be fought.

But the saddest part of all

is i did not fire a shot.



You have to serve your country,

but let us tell the truth.

Nothing justifies

the killing of your youth.



So let"s salute them all.

For nothings ever won,

and let us not forget

the Mothers of these sons.



But the saddest point of all

and the burden we all share.

Is that everybody knows

that Governments just don"t care!







There now, that got that off my chest.