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Each day a letter comes
Each night it goes unread
Sometimes they stack up like moldy bread
But each week they’re burned in a drum

The weather says clear, but the sky’s need to cry
Poison in the air has taken many lives
Even us here have to learn to survive
On planes the bodies are sent back of the ones who died

I try for a walk and see his shadow
I don’t get far but down the street
To an old coffee shop where we would meet
I order a drink and watch the crows

On my walk home, the trees look bare
The concrete is growing strong on the grass
And the flags are all set to half mass
In the mailbox, is a letter from Vietnam; with a slight tear
Heroes wear all kinds of uniforms,
and call many places home,
but standing the line for Democracy
they are all just as tall and just as brave

Who was this man
who ventured to a distant land
to defend it from an invader
they are not his people
this was not his home
but he stood the line for Democracy
he stood the line proud and tall
and died

He was my Brother
He was my Father
He was my Friend
He was a good man
He stood the line for Democracy
The Japanese Shuto Fukuyama, who had been serving in Ukraine as a Volunteer succumbed on the Battlefield.
Honor, Glory and Gratitude To Our Brother.
Alec Llaneta Aug 2021
When a soldier marches, where does his focus go?
Forward? To glory or doom?
His mind filled with stories of honour and pride of wars long ago?

Backward? Of the life, they left behind?
To the wife, the child back home?
The medals to be shown as trinkets or to speak never more?

Have they ever stopped to look around? Of the country, to be or not to be? The mountains, the rivers, the towns and to the sea.
The damage to be caused? The life preserved?

Regardless, the solider marches
Ashok Manikoth Jul 2020
We think a soldier knows no
fear. How wrong we are it's fear
that keeps him alive. A trained killing machine he is but made of flesh and blood. It's the training and comradeship
that keeps his spirit high. The words cover me works like a spell he forgets
he is mortal. From an ordinary being he becomes a super hero his heart and mind knows only one thing protect the life of his comrade who has stepped into the dark trusting him. Bullets can pierce him pain can make him fall yet his arm and eyes are steady his gun trained eyes scanning for any danger that might befall his friend.
Ashok Manikoth Jul 2020
On the border stand a few men in shivering cold who have sworn that
not a soul shall cross as long as they stand. You and I live oblivious of this cozy and safe their sacrifice gone unnoticed. At home we have a similar
a farmer and soldier rolled into one
who sees that there is food on the fire
our safety his only concern. As long as alive we notice him not, a stranger to wish once in a while. He is the one we call father. Mother we praise in verse and rhyme yet not a word for him at home and the one on the border. Dear friends of mine remember them say a kind word once in a while they are the heroes brave hearts with hearts of gold.
WAR
“I was okay with dying.” The Irishman tells the ghost of an unknown soldier. “It’s inevitable. Especially in war.” He sits down facing the sunset.
The soldier picks up a red poppy from the field. “How did you die?”
“I was airborne.” Says the Irishman. “I died from a crash. You?”
The soldier looks up at him. “Gunshot wound. Although one of these poppies is for me. My body lies back in the trenches.”
The Irishman nodded. “My body lies back at the crash. No one has found me yet.”
“We were alive a short while ago.” The soldier says. “We laughed and breathed. Now we’re stuck here for eternity.”
Dream Fisher Nov 2019
It's a countdown, whats the count now?
Do you know? Is it in your head?
Is it trapped in your pillow as you lay in bed?
You say run, I'll do laps until I collapse.
Until I relapse to the same spot
Where my legs drops, keep my head up.
Keep your head down like a soldier
Fighting through a war, getting older.
What's the count now? It's a countdown.

Eighteen shots rang out across the field
Eleven more then each side did yield
The commander speaks out in code
Like he has a plan for that unknown
Guerilla warfare until the cover is blown
But they dont plan for worst scenario
Passing the past like it's buried now.

Each one would take a shot for America
Right to the chest, right through the heart
This is raw thoughts, I'm not wearing a vest.
The pain could drain any in the path of this shooter
But I'm a soldier looking into the future
It's a countdown. What's the count now?
The sun beamed down on the sand,
with an unforgiving frown.
For it knew we would drown.
In the blood of the innocence,
and die in foreign land,
for a war caused by man.
Who care more for the oil
under some man's soil,
Then for his lover,
or even his brother.

We had believed them when they said,
"You, are fighting for freedom from dread"
"You, are fighting for liberation of the dammed"
"You, are fighting for future of democracy"
but alas it was all a lie,
for which we died.

They did not care when the news came,
to them it was always a game.
Money, Money, Money.
More, More, More.
Mine, Mine, Mine.
It was never to save,
or for freedom to the slave.
It was a just greed that sent us to the grave.

For only if they had learnt to give,
then maybe we could forgive.
but instead they were for themselves,
and never for others.
we shall not grant them the forgiveness,
that they beg for in an unconvincing lie.

For they cursed us to die,
fighting for the wrong side.
And now we have gone.
we shall not forgive those,
who lied, posed, convinced us to go,

We ask now,
is the forgiveness of those.
who we harmed, we are sorry.
We didn't know,
but we understand that forgiveness,
is hard for we have not yet forgiven
those that told us it was good to go.
Jessie Schwartz Feb 2018
War
War …by Jessie 6/05
I peered quite deep and far beyond, where any man should look

Into the eyes of tragedy, where fury can be took

What I saw, I can’t explain, there are no words to say

Suffice to say that what I saw, scared me on that day

Men as far as the eye can see, lay empty on the ground

Others running fast and hard, explosions all around

Mechanical devices, found burring in the fire, trying hard to stay alive the soldiers first desire

The smell so bad it chokes the throat, from chemicals and death

Heat so hot, it sears the lungs with every choking breath

Fear, in every eye, tells of what’s to come

Nights of panic for many, death will come to some

Cries poured out into the sky from those that have been hurt

While soldiers blood on each side, fill pools in the dirt

Pictures of their families, crumpled in a pocket near their chest

Memories of what they’ve lost, at their final rest

Some men break, the strains too much, from all that they have seen

Not retreating on the battlefield, only in the brain

Yes, I’ve peered quite deep and far beyond, where any man should look
Into the eyes of tragedy, where fury can be took
Nichole Dec 2017
GET TO YOUR CANONS!!
A solider get's shot,
A whole troop gunned down,

And then, another, and another,
War, what is it good for?

Death,
The smell of it.

Future?
Questionable.

Why must humans play these games?
Why must we watch as another man dies?

WW3 possibility or undeniable.
If you like it let me know :)
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