This particular piece of poetry, is the most recent of my war poems and yet, the one I remember least about. It is yet another sonnet, and the one thing I can remember was attempting to think about war in itself, a hard thing to do for someone who hasn't even lived through one. I imagined people crying in pain, and fighting death and that made me wonder, what if there people the exact opposite? People who embraced death, though they didn't believe in anything. That's what this is about. A man who believes in nothing, but doubt. Or on the outside that's what it would seem. Though characterisation, did not have to be a part of this, the character seems to have believed at one point, but now, with so much terror in front of him, he is forced to lock down his beliefs and doesn't want to believe them any more. Since I've took up enough space I'll just post this already.
The blood gushes, seeping from every vein
I'm dying. A loss all must accept.
Red. washed away by the ever-cleansing rain
The only griever. all must be adept.
Why would anyone care that one more fell?
Some have beliefs, to help them stay alive,
but I know, I am alone in this hell
Where beings of despair and anguish thrive.
Lying in my death-bed and grave as one
Embedded in me, my opponents sword
I have hatred. Before I am undone.
The force behind this cursed war – O’ Lord!
our saviour, destroyer. Hiding in sky.
In the end it is we, not him, who die.
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