i was raised to want peace,
but the world decided it wanted war
i was forced to slay someone else's demons,
taking them as my own- but what for?
i'd fight in the name of love,
for family, and for health
so, how did i end up here
where i'm no longer myself?
i'd never choose a cold battlefield
over the comfort of a warm bed
did i believe i'd make it out alive?
would the gods give me mercy if i bled?
i'm expected to raise a weapon
against those who are not my enemies
why is manslaughter a crime in court
but in war, there are no penalties?
prayers are lost among the roars
courage is swallowed up by fear
names are whispered on the wind
of those they each held dear
the air is tainted with the scent of death
the beautiful earth- smeared in a red stain
my hands are coated in blood
atrocities committed for another's gain
how did this become of me?
i wanted peace- not war
alone, i see the battle is done
i survived... but what for?
death cries fade away
silence rings throughout the air
and now i know the spoils of war:
endless hopelessness and despair
About the Creator
Brin J.
I never believed the sky is the limit, therefore my passions are expansive. My interest in writing stemmed from poetry but my heart lead me to Sci-Fi Fantasy. Consequently, my stories are plot-driven with splashes of evocative elements.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
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Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
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On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
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Original narrative & well developed characters
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Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
This One Time At Starbucks
The Pug was sitting inside a red wagon with wooden sides and plastered with stickers like ‘Doggy Power!” and “I'm a puppy at heart", and other such nonsense. Judging by that and the amount of doggy things the woman had with her, including a bag that looked a lot like a diaper bag, and the way the lady's entire universe was circling around this mutt, I'd say this was her child. She was the type of woman, who, when asked about grandkids, she'd say, "This is your grandchild."
By Becky Troup7 days ago in Humans
Comments (6)
This is one of my favourite poems by you, Brin! It really is a powerfully emotive and raw piece that perfectly expresses what so many of us feel about war! well done!
This is very well written and absolutely tugs at the heartstrings.
Brin, this should be the mantra of a generation. So well expressed, every line is a truth bomb, spoken from a heart of compassion. Well done!
War is hell!!! Your poem is powerful and opens up the contradictions of murder a crime and killing in a war is acceptable. There are no wiinners in war. What a person believes and what they are forced to do causing long term consequences.
Raw, poignant, and evocative. Brilliant work!
When we were serving churches in South Dakota back in the 1990s, my wife had a parishioner who lived on the reservation who would not take communion because he found he just could not forgive Truman for sending him to war. It took until a month before he died before he finally relented. We aspire to be one thing, but when the moment comes upon us all too often we discover we're something quite different. And when we do, we're never the same again.