Silent night,
The air was still
The fog suspended mid-air.
Thirty-forth battalion crept
Along the edge of target.
Sergeant Lane
Determined quickly
Tonight would see the bloodshed,
Of some unholy target
Hiding in a foxhole.
Sights are raised,
Target seen,
Crouching in the distance.
Steady hand will find the bull,
The eye of villain target.
Through the fog,
And through the sights,
Sergeant sees the target.
Writing down the thoughts in mind,
No doubt, the pain of bloodshed.
Quickly falls
Determined valor,
A writer’s heart can see another.
Pain is equal on both sides.
Target is a man it seems.
War will make
A warrior-man,
But only peace can make a man.
Why destroy the peace-made man,
To make the man who targets man?
Love this. Good work!
ReplyDeleteIf you are interested, I'm actually in the process of self-publishing a book of my poetry, called "Dear World." It will be available on Kindle and hardback before the end of the year. I also tweaked this poem a bit since putting it on here - the ending always felt a bit rushed to me, so I made it a bit more solid.
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