Monday, 26 November 2012

war senses poem


Struggling
The deathly red, orange flames of destruction light up the night sky.
The horrid stench of smoke and  rotting bodies
is all around me as I fire my gun.
The sound of gun shots in my  ears with a ringing
noise that overwhelms me and brings me to tears.
Eerie loneliness penetrating my thoughts but also the
tingling warmth of pride.
Rubbery bitterness of gun powder and ash that drifts through the air in constant streams  filling my lungs, leaving me breathless.
I think my struggle will pay off in time.



Bridget

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