soldier

The Secret's Out

 

~~~

the glistening dew upon

the petals of a rose,

and the

 

mourning sun


<¤>

 

the caustic yet subtle pungency

of sandalwood twirling past my nares

and 

 

the forest leaves underfoot


<¤>


a newborn baby's wail

and walls

and walls

of silence

layers

and layers

of denial

and


shame inflicted

love constricted

*

tightly wound 

to cover the 

pain of the past

ironically

making it last

 

<¤>


now,

here

i

sit


with dimestore favorites in an old shoebox

my kept treasures

after your funeral

 

and memories that you left

it feels so senseless

 

bereft

 

 <¤>

 

your burning passion

 

LOVE

LOVE

love of country

that was

 

that gaping bore,

carved into the very core of your soul...

...from war

 

<¤>

 

the depth of compassion in the heart

of a nine year old

waking in the night 

to the sound of

weeping

¤

sneaking down the stairs

peering through the railing

the clenched fists pressed tightly to eyes

desperation overflowing

overwhelming feelings 

of sorrow

of shame

of anger

of helplessness


*

torment

*


 teardrops

that brandished holes

upon my heart

to watch you

hide your turmoil

 in the darkness of the night

...alone


¥


and now

you are gone


.:-'*'-:. 

  you never knew...

I saw!


you never knew

I felt it too!


~~~~

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Unresolved grief seen and felt through the eyes and heart of a child, and lingering memories it leaves.

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The Soldier

Wounded

Scarred

Life behind bars

Just for what he stands for

Because he loves his country

And fought for her safety

Just to come back

For them to hate

He risked his life for them

But do they care?

No, they call him a reprobate

Murderer

A weapon

Nothing more than an item

 

He tries to walk away

On what’s left of his legs

Sacrificed for his murderers

Given for them

There goes my hero

Watch him as he falls

See the tears roll from his eyes

As he keeps living

As he keeps fighting

For what is right

As he keeps hoping

That death comes swiftly

A man who fought for his country

To find he wasn’t part of it.

Survivors

Close your eyes
Can’t let them see
The fear that lies within
The pain that immobilizes
The anger at your loss
You’re theirs now
And you can’t give them the satisfaction
You won’t

Fight back
Don’t let them rule without a battle
Don’t allow them to take away what matters most
You’re a soldier
You’re a fighter
You are a force to be reckoned with
So show it
Be it
Do it

Steele yourself
It’ll be a long road yet
But you’ll make it
You’ll survive
We will be survivors

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The Vulmandir

None had ever bested us.
We, who were beyond rebuttal
were manufactured and
mesmerized by commoners
and set in one direction with
one purpose at a time.
From beneath we'd bury back
by blazing every mote of air,
every free and able space;
each man, each woman
who wore the colors we opposed.

Suddenly, they tucked us in,
and from our cracks beneath their feet
we poured like urchin toward the heights
as soles of boots did burn and scold
against the poured embankment.

While the blanket spread its death
and warmth, we fought our panic
and our foes did find us soon.
Collected, we then forced apart
all things, all people and
all constructs and their strata.
We do as we were made to do:
gorging on the dirty air as
we channeled hatred from
this distant place we had dreamt of.

But the many were just more than we,
who'd sunder they so ceaselessly;
informed by ours against their mantra,
chanted as they did seek our end.
The tidal wave of mortar, magma
and steel and stone emergent from
their mouths and beds that house the whole
of worth that they had gathered then.
Its weight was pressed upon our heads
and it was too much for rending thrice.
In hours we were widdled down
to matchstick men in drizzled ponds;
granted mercy in exchange
for our imminent departure.

Against ourselves, against our own;
we were perceived as threats and holy
smotes that left a pillared smoke
in wake of all we couldn't take.
Those who'd come, divided, took
a sampling of all our ranks -
like gluttons at a feast bones,
adorned by corpses, rotting, parceled.
And taken toward the other lands,
where paltry men once sought our guts,
we're flung aboard a soldier's hut
and told to be just as we were.

We would be deployed again
with a novel sense that we'd done wrong
in name of right or something close,
while we destroy our remaining brethren.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This has promise. It, along with my book, will come to real fruition some day.

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MISSING MY FEET

The Union flag comes down once more
Another job done in a foreign War
Lets salute and march and take home or dead
As the enemy leaves theirs for the vultures instead
Young men missing legs and arms and friends
Come home to Britain to start again
Some go straight to jail
Others languish on the streets
One takes his life coz he is missing his feet
Fake Veterans parade on Remembrance day
Lying about how it was in `Their` Day
Their War was e-bay and a last minute bid
For ten medals and a beret
He hopes it will fit
The dead are still dead
The Fakes still cheat
A Royal Marines toes still itch on his missing feet.

© Tony McNally

View mack619's Full Portfolio

WHY I WEAR A POPPY

Another poppy grows from the hard dry ground
As another soldier falls
His name will live forever more
On the War memorial walls

The petals still gently blow in Flanders fields
Dancing in the winter sun
As a solder falls in Helmand province
He wont be the only one

Just once a year we wear our poppies proud
Standing silent in our towns
We cant hear the rifle shot in Afghanistan
That’s just brought another soldier down

As another poppy seed is planted
Another baby boy is borne
Lets pray he doesn’t have to die
To protect us all at home

A poppy is not just a paper flower
Its represents a life
A brother , son , uncle
Who leaves a grieving wife

So next time you see a poppy
Remember what it means
A fallen Hero
Who died for us
Some still in their late teens

On the 11.11.11.11
Lets bow our heads an pray
That another British soldier
Will not die on this sacred day.

© Tony McNally

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Its not just a paper flower it represents a life.

View mack619's Full Portfolio

Down Town

Bright light

Intense heat

Dripping sweat

Monotonous

Smiling children

Hands Outstretched

Man on bike

No more smiling

People gone

Even hotter

Raging thirst

Headache

Helicopter

Reassurance

Eyes pealed

Look to my corporal

Hand in air

Stop

Scan road

Kneeling down

Aching body

Move again

Stop again

Move again

Hotter than Hell

Sweaty hands

Heavy armour

Sore eyes

Need a drink

Stop again

Kneel down

Op Barmer

Vulnerable Point

Banging head

Even Hotter

Move again

Smiling children

Blazing sun

All clear

Raging thirst

Nearly back

Apprehension

Switch on

Stay alert

Helicopter

Children laughing

Nearly there

Through the gate

Legs like jelly

Relief

Thumbs up

Geordie smiles

Safe

FOB

Time to sleep

Home.

© Tony McNally

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A FOB is a Forward Operating Base in Afghanistan.

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The Soldier

Folder: 
Misc Poems

A dozen of her most
Tender kisses
Were planted
On his soft, slender lips
Tears were shed from her eyes
As he saluted the crowd
And looked back at her
One last time
Before he had to
Go
They held her back
As she reached out for him
Calling his name
Crying
Sobbing
Hurting
He turned around and
Boarded the plane
Equipment in hand
A single tear
Ran down his face
And he wondered
If he would ever see
Her again

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A depressing poem I wrote long ago. As you may have guessed, it's from the perspective of a soldier who's being deployed.

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`THE LAST POST`

Eyes wide open he stared out into the landscape ahead
Silently he watched as the gentle breeze blew into his blonde hair
He had no fear, no apprehension , no doubts
Slowly he swayed from side to side as the evening wind stirred
He will not leave his post
The sun slipped behind the hill
The eyes did not blink
He was here for his comrades
Small birds landed close by
Still his eyes were fixed upon his front
They had no fear of the soldier
As the sun came up he remained at his post
Not a word had been spoken
The soldiers War was over
He was at peace.

© Tony McNally

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Another British soldier is taken from us by PTSD

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