Tragedies At War

Poem By Roy Whitman

The bugles call, the trumpets blow, the fife and drum join in.
The young men they all jump to arms while mothers' tears begin.
It's fine to see this brave display of men in rank and file.
Despite the cannon, shot, and smoke that reign the land with hate,
These soldiers fight with strength and vigor, knowing not their fate. The battles rage, the soldiers tramp, the bullets are dispersed.
They sting the heart and wound the pride of all of those they hit.
The fields are spacious, dark and deep and all is now unlit.
And only there are trodden corpses, bloody and contort. The heavens sob, the earth it weeps in gloomy harmony.
They mourn the death of their creation that have ceased to be.

Comments about Tragedies At War

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of ROY WHITMAN

Ode To Italy

Italy land that I love. Italy land of my dreams.
Italy where the art of Florence is quite a sight.
Italy land where the isle of Capri shines bright.
Italy where the cities of Milan and Naples do bustle.

1492-1992

An Old World. A New World.
Five hundred years hence. Christopher Columbus sets sail.
With all the Universe in suspense. A white man. A red man.
A tragedy apart. Disease strikes. Tears flow.

The Piano And The Violin

Black keys, white keys.
Straight in a row.
Whimsical tunes
Do come and go.