From among the ruins and black ashes,
A troop of soldiers marched with swelling pride;
Chanting and singing victor's songs and verses,
Of victory and peace they have dignified.
The generals and commanders wily smirk,
Receiving medals for the job they shirk.
"Good job, son. You have made this country proud,
War heroes you all are, there is no doubt!"
Triple cheers from the army believing
an embellished lie seems so flattering.
Marched home the soldiers, their pride swelling still,
yet their bodies in tatters in need of heal.
"Hear ye! Hear ye! Look over yonder!
Here comes our son the hero: A soldier!"
Entered the young man, his march turned to gait.
Returned to the old life he used to forfeit.
He left home an innocent lad–
Heavily armed, in khakis he was clad.
A proud man he is now – so tall he stood,
Many enemies he's slain, like no one could.
He was welcomed home with open arms
O joy in his heart as he laid down his arms!
"Returned is your son, a war hero,
I bring you peace, so fear no more."
But behind his eyes, terror kept hidden,
as if carrying a monstrous burden–
Witnessed has he, true pain and agony,
when justice clashed with tyranny.
They exchanged slash, shots and explosion,
leading each other into complete destruction.
The war had ended, the fight was won,
destruction all around could not be undone:
One side claimed victory, the other lost;
At the expense of peace and many lives loss.
From the rising smoke of shots and shells,
echoing bawls and screams, worse than hell.
Desperate wives, for their dead husband, wailed,
Orphaned children, in their dead ma's lap, cuddled.
Anywhere he went, death and despair lingered,
left and right, houses and corpses, shredded.
Blood and tears tainted his hands black,
of the innocent souls that didn't fight back.
Years went by and the war was forgotten,
But the scars on his soul ever deepened;
Nightmares woke him up when nights were still,
haunted by the voices of ones he killed.
"Bring back my husband, o cruel murderer!
Give their parents back, o so-called peace-bringer!"
He sat aghast, soaking wet in cold sweat,
Listening to accusations from the dead.
"What have we done to you, I beseech to know,
that we're brutally killed with no hope for 'morrow?"
He twisted and turned as he lay in bed,
regretting his past covered in bloodshed.
O what would he give to turn back time!
To start anew, and erase his crime!
This is a tale often found in history,
Often repeated if we aren't wary:
Brothers fought each other in the name of peace,
Yet peace shattered, leaving the land in pieces.
Blazing flame, smothering smoke, crippling terror–
War broke out in their struggle for power.
Peace is but a utopia unattained,
if greed and hatred remain uncontained.
Bloodshed and war are never the answer
if you and me can understand each other.
HBY,
22 April 2018.
Written for poetry recitation competition. Won first place for district level.
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Overflowing
PoëzieThis is a collection of poetry I have written throughout the years, whenever my head is overflowing with thoughts and my heart with emotions.
