war
Pride
Anger
Bravery
happy now?
merry christmas
Yesterday we lost two men on a patrol to a roadside bomb,i swear every patrol gets more and more dangerous, it should be snowing back home, but out in the desert it just as hot and dry as ever. Last week are convoy got ambushed, it was my first fire fight and I think I killed someone, as long as I keep pretending I didn't i should be ok. I've been put on patrol for Christmas day, I don't want to go, this year the only present will be a bomb under a rock, my only incentive to keep fighting is so that no one else has to spend Christmas in this fuck hole of a country.
My parents and younger brother will be at home, opening presents, drinking and eating, it won't be the same, but it's ok they only have to imagine what I'm going through, I have to live it, I'll be killing for Christmas, and dead by new year
1,000 yards
Gallipoli
Nuclear
Crusade
This is a kinda work in progress, i just felt like doing somehting so i wrote it down, i intend to get back to it at some point and change it.
Fighting, Killing, Blood death and tears
Bleeding ans shooting, for a leaders fears
Mud, sand, guns, a crusade
This mindless killing, ask yourself, who does it aid.
They are peasants, militia, end of the line
Just fighting for freedom, buying more time
We fight for him the guy at the top
We have no choice, there's only one way to stop
By taking a bullet, or killing, sending them to hell
Violence, destruction on a world wide scale
This isn't our war,
It's not even theyre's
It's a Christian war
For out dated ideals
Toy solider
Home
M.I.A
memories
A rocket screamed past his head, forcing him, hard, against the stone wall. It exploded about ten metres away spraying him with debris. Before he got to his seances a fire fight had broken out.
Scrambling for cover he slipped on falling head first into a creator. All around him, his men were running for cover, firing at the assailants or laid down as shocked as he was. He quavered himself and returned fire, He'd never shot at a person before, but he was shocked at how easy it was. His target fell backwards and didn't get up, all of a sudden the fight was over.
Slowly, he walked over to were his target had been standing, it was his target the thought of making him human was to scary even before he saw what he had done. The body lay on the ground, what was left of his face was twisted into a look of shock.
The bang, the bomb went off, it all went black.
6 years on and he was stiled plagued by those dreams, or was it a dream, a memory perhaps, but something that belonged to a past life, someone else's life maybe. But he still felt the guilt of what he had done, making it someone else's memory only buried the self hate. He reached up to the top of his head and let his fingers run the length of the scar, the sick reminder or what had happened, on days when the memories didn't plague him the scar gave of a constant throbbing pain. He could only live a farce life, to convince people as much as himself that he was still a human, not an empty shell, running on the need to get better.
recently it had been welling up inside him, years of forcing it down had brought it up, bigger and worse than ever, He walked to the draw and picked up the item inside, trembaling he put it to his head, then he did something he swore he would never do again, he fired a gun.
Blood trade
- <<
- <
- >
- >>
I like this one more than your previous poetrytype pieces. Tho I sense a lack of proofreading, the language use is pretty good. I like the whole 'streets of hell and devils field' thing.
The fourth line of the first verse strikes me as wrong, I don't think it works with the rhythm. Story and glory sounds a bit eurky, but again I can't put my finger on why.
Otherwise though, it's kewl.
This is yet better I think. If you can bare it then read up on apostrophes :P I recommend 'Eats, shoots, and Leaves' by someone I can't remember (not sure if I have the commas right there either, lol.
Another little thing is line 4 verse 2 seems a little corny. Other than that it's kewl.
I'm not sure what this is but it is damn good, doesnt really read like poetry the whole way tho... :P
Spelling for chrissake. Sorry for being anal. The poem is pretty cool. I'm not really sorry for being anal. Fix the damn spelling.
~Kluny
I think I killed someone, as long as I keep pretending I didn't i should be ok...i liked that quote, very stirring. chelsea<3
please. fix the spelling. i am so able to take things more seriously if they are spelled correctly.
this has a decent flavor to it, a kinda of ... angry resignation. expand your vocab, spell things correctly and you could possibly have something very impactful here....
Very obvious themes, and honestly they are also a little worn (at least in my mind). Perhaps try for a more subtle approach.
I don't want to make this my story! I just am giving suggestions. Just wanted to make sure I didn't come off as a control freak.
This reminds me too much of Lieutenant Dan: http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Lieutenant_dan&redirect=no
He died for the better good, no? Would have worked better :3.
Apart from that I'd rate it as average+ it's good, but could do with some work. I don't get the rush of contradicting emotions that you appear to be trying to portray, and rather just get an opinnion with a touch of unwanted sarcasm.
Keep it up!