Memories of Love and War- Original Poetry from The Captain's Chair- The U.S.S. Minnowprize!

in #poem6 years ago





Once again we take a chance.
Few steps down memory's lane.
Take my hand, bring face close.
We peek at what used to matter most.

Now it's faded and gone, torn from your eyes grasp.
Bleeding hearts, past lovers, nostalgic reminder.
Good food, good company.
Where is it now?

Remembered only in your dusty vault.
Man, time to move on.
Shuffle into that grave, distant wight.
I hold a candle against that night.

It get easier, I'm told.
To keep that heart of gold.
Unfortunate mine fell into shards.
Each one yet another reminder.

Of wither and rot, blood running to clot.
Who can see with eyes closed, looking into the fade?
No place for us.
Only slow decay, rust.
Edging it's way towards mediocrity.
Beneath notice.

Good to have a book tucked away you see.
Write down those quiet memories.
Now only hold it close.
Forget the rest, buried under boards.
Sealed away.
At least that's what I heard.
The good book told me so.
No one told me I read it upside down.


To give your firstborn son, that was the pledge.
Now we're at the crunch, I see the ledge.
The plunge, the jump, call it what you will.
It's the end for us.

I see my child wrapped within silken shroud.
Falling from sky's grasp, through dirty cloud.
To strike, to fall, to break his back.
Death comes striding through bloody mud.

For king and country!!
Sounds so grand up on the stands.
Here in the trench, another word comes to mind.
Hell on Earth.

Now all I have is this silent watcher, laid back resting comfortable.
Glad to have at least one comrade in this dugout.
The bastards won't take us alive.
Good to have a plan.

Few canister, positioned just right.
Enough flash and bang to give a fright.
The real surprise is at the door.
C4 mate, c4.

Got the trigger in my hand, another buried in the sand.
One sunk into the jam.
Take a bite!

Now my MG's running hot, I guess they really want this spot.
My mates been quiet entire time, sleepy bugger.
Better go and take a look.
I'm pretty sure I recognize that book.

Hot damn, my son is here.
Been down the whole time.
Hole in the uniform.
No time to look, he's cooked.
Claymores popping, door knocking.
Guess it's time to lift the roof.
For King and Country.
I'd give my firstborn son.
Click







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