Bouncing bombs,
Pointing bayonets,
Sounds of trumpets.
Huns, Mongols, Jacobin threats.
River, clogged with corpses
A nation’s youth sneered,
Toilets bloodied with abortions.
Waterloo, Mariupol and Verdun.
Rippings of shrapnel,
Tips of spears.
Fleshy Jesus crucified,
He, observer of type-writer death.
Mothers eyes swollen,
Those old clutching hands,
She carries on the sisyphean effort,
Feintly whispering.
So remember those young days
When your brains weren’t bleached.
Before a million revenges
Plunged us into butchering.
The breasts of your first love,
Grandmother’s cooking,
Father’s telling off,
The sergeant’s orders,
So here it comes.
The great closing of everything
You bleed behind your perfect uniform,
The battlefield shall be your resting place.
By Armand
Beleaguered chastity of youth repenting the sins of the old.
Well written
Keep it going
👏👏👏
Isn’t today’s youth conscripted from their blinded peers? Only those who can look and reach beyond that influence and cast off their shackles will surely rise
I should to look comment more on the influence of age groups next time. Looking back, the disconnect of the conscripted youth and senior officers contributed to the tragic loss of life. Thank you for your comment.