The Perpetual Guilt

Now, this poem, is the final one of mine, created for the war topic. It is the one I am most fond of, and the very first one I wrote, (for that project.) If my memory serves, though that is a rare occurence, I first start writing this piece in class time, with constant noise from all around me, and for once that was actually a help rather than a hindrance. Imagination, my dear readers, can take the help of many a stimulus, and it allowed me to imagine a noisy battlefield, where thought is as rare as peace. (A nice metaphor, which I may use later.) Of course, the poem below has nothing on noise, for I only used it as a basis to build my ideas upon. The poem you will see before you, if I can shut up enough to give you it, is under the general heading "Dramatic monologue" although with a few minor changes could quite likely become a narrative piece. One of the largest ideas that I gathered from the subject of war, is the typical one - loss. But what if there was to be a new spin? that such guilt, could cloud your senses? What if your feeling of loss, caused loss in itself? That's what "The Perpetual Guilt" is about. So without further ado, here goes. Enjoy.

The shells fall down around my head,
My comrade’s are fallen already dead.
The cowards, like geese, have already flown
Now, their true colours have been shown
And God himself has turned his back
And left us to this haunted black.
The black of the night,
Where the shadows of the past
Cling to our minds, and hold on fast.

My brother stands before me now
Anguish etched upon his brow
My tears flow freely, throughout this all
No one is left to hear them fall.
I try to block out dreams overworn
Dreams which cannot help a man to mourn.

The war is upon us!
Fight for your queen!
And then, the stuff of nightmares is seen.

My brother was before me, striving to a goal
Determined to destroy the ones with no soul
But he stopped and gave a startled cry
The sound of one about to die.
My fears each night had all came true
I stood frozen. What could I do?

I watched him fall.
I watched him stumble.
And then, so slow, I watched him tumble.

His pain is gone, I see that now
The hurt once etched upon his brow
One hand raised he beckons me near
Undying trust, I have no fear.
I do not feel the tear of skin,
The ache of cold, seeping in.

Ever-ready, my shell comes down
Reaching out, I grasp only air
My spirit leaves. My penance, fair.

Terminus Unknown

This poem, another of the war poems and, yet another, sonnet, is a particular favourite of mine. It was, I think, the second last poem to be written. the basis of this poem, since I always seem to delve into my poetry, is based upon one my most frequent loves - Msn. However, I'll need to explain a bit of background to it. The first line is from a long while back when a friend was trying to write some lyrics to a tune running through her head, and that was our thoughts. The third line, and the second of the two stimulus I used for this poem, is a Nightwish (they're a band, look them up) lyric, from the song, "Seven Days to the Wolves" which, my friend, Jonathan, is obsessed with (The band, not the song.) It was, at the time, his Msn name, and it lead to the creation of this poem. As an additional sidenote, before I shut up and let you read, the word terminus, part of the title of this poem is defined as: " The final point; the end." which I found, perfect in the context of this poem. Without Further ado, Terminus Unknown. Enjoy.

Here I am, standing at the end of days.

Watching the sun set on this weary life.

This, is where heroes and cowards part ways.

We are all helpless, as bloodshed is rife.

All are only flowers; we bloom then fade.

Slowly forgotten by those left behind

Life is no more than a game that's been played

And the pieces are no more than mankind.

Despite the concern that I should have felt

There's nothing but a sense of weary calm.

I will abide by the fate I was dealt.

We're just god's playthings; we're crushed in his palm.

This is my destiny - I won't defy.

No one will miss me - I'm ready to die.

The Belief of Doubt

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.

War of Lies

This piece of poetry, was based around the thought of Iraq, although there is no specific reference. It is a part of the war poetry series I wrote. It also, happens to be another 2 o' clock in the morning piece of writing. Writing, I find, is so much more easier in those tranquil (usually) hours in the morning. Without further adieu, the "War of Lies."

They say that war is glorious.
That I can’t believe.
Since when has violent bloodshed,
Done more than make us grieve?

They say I’m just a coward
A vile lowly skive.
Well, a coward I may be
But at least I’m still alive.

They say that war is needed
It keeps us on our toes.
Is this the only thing we can do?
Battle so-called ‘foes’?

War is neither needed,
Nor joyous in any way.
The only thing it can do,
Is make this planet pay.

You may say I’m a coward
That there is fighting to be done
But let me ask you this –

Where are all these ‘leaders?
until the war is won?

The Devil's Sea

This next post, is the second in my group of 6 poems. It was written as a reply to a poem a friend had written, describing a wife's lament for her love, who was sent out to war. The title, comes from the old phrase "Trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea." Enjoy.

I miss her, unbelievably so
And each night I prayed that I wouldn't have to go
But my country needed me
Needed us all, to destroy the foe.
Or else, she could never be free.

Does she understand?
Why I had to let go of her hand,
and venture into lands unknown?
It wasn't meant - wasn't planned
I didn't want to leave her, all alone.

The night I left, her tears fell fast,
I held her tight, the hug our last.
A moment so tough, I couldn't forget
though so much time, has passed.
Then I'm gone. Leaving but a silhouette.

My thought's now stray,
so far away
to a time that burns intense.
My heart was torn,
My beloved, forlorn
A time that made no sense.

They knocked the door, the crack of dawn.
And with their words, left my love withdrawn.
I was "given orders", that I chose to ignore.
All of it lies, pure lies! But that is foregone.
For the sun is rising, and I am no more.

I cannot speak, for she cannot hear
I shouldn't have left, I should’ve stayed
She is lost, the world no longer clear
I am but a ghost - I cannot aid.

Vengeance

We started a topic in English, focused upon war poetry. Over the next 6 days, I'll be publishing 6 poems that I've written for English. This first one is a sonnet, entitled Vengeance. It was written at 2 o'clock in the morning, and was based upon the last two lines, which were swirling around my head. Enjoy.

Pure anger and rage runs through my whole frame.
My mind, set, ready for utter revenge
Their deaths make this, no longer just a game
Now, life’s final goal; ghost’s I must avenge.
Once I was a child; a child no more
The beasts stole my kin – took from me brothers
They are monsters, once written in lore
I must take them. Before they take others.

I hold such power within my two hands.
They will soon answer for what they have done
I stand, ready to die on foreign lands
They will die alone, in front of a gun.
The beast awakens – their blood I shall spill.
The beast awakens – I make my first kill.

Ode To Katie

A piece of prose I wrote, what feels like a lifetime ago, yet can only be a few months, at most. For those, who wonder where each piece comes from, this poem was written for a friend who was leaving, and moving elsewhere. The night she left was very emotional, and with emotions running high I came back home intent on making this. I publish it here, as I published it that night, changing nothing.
" The Ode To Katie"
Dedicated to my friend Katie, who must leave us now for greener plains.

The tears flow freely down our face,

The end of life, the end of place
Where all our dreams and joys began.
You try not to weep, you try to stay strong,
But in the end, you know that is wrong
And so let them fall, let them drop, as our faces do too

Waving our last goodbye to you.

The moon herself shines down on us all,
The rain, drops down, in storms it shall fall
The rain, we know is truly her sorrow.
The dark where her gaze cannot touch
Is the emptiness that is left, our internal crutch.
So is the end, the end of our crew?
Waving our last goodbye to you.

We shall not forget our times
Those, joyful unforgettable rhymes
That always left us buzzing.
Nor shall we forget the things filled with light
Your smile a beacon throughout the night
And we know, you will not forget us too
Waving our last goodbye to you.

They ask what I did tonight, is it my end?
‘Just saying goodbye to a lifelong friend.’
Those words I say but inside I mutter
Words that stop my breath and send me a flutter
This is the death of an era, our world it is through
Waving our last goodbye to you.

This is my ode, my last refrain
Knowing I may never see you again,
And that is what hurts the most.
It may not be perfect, it may not be right,
But I sit here, sobbing tonight.
Our seed of friendship, it always grew
writing my last goodbye to you.

Listen

This, being the first post of hopefully many has no title, though I like to call it "A Collection of Thoughts". It was one of my first posts, and is rather different to most poetry like things you'd expect. Enjoy.

Never explain yourself to me.
You have no need to.
Never hide yourself from me.
I have nothing to judge.
Never waste your time, prolonging it.
It is short enough.
Never hide your face.
It is beautiful.
Never store your pain.
Share it.
And
Above all
Never feel guilty.
For being who you are.