WW1+WW2 Poetry

O Death

I can see him in the horizon,
striding through the fray.
Beckoning me over,
calling for my end of days.

He's hooded and clad in black,
now we're face to face.
His hand is cold and so is mine-
as i slip further into his embrace.

He covers my ears,
the spitfire's engine nothing more than a muffled drone.
That's when i realise-
i won't be returning home.

He casts his shadow upon the land,
he takes way the pain.
He takes my body and lifts me up,
from the ground where my blood stains.

As i watch from heaven,
to the hell below.
"The war to end all wars." was their last excuse-
I watch the poppies grow.