And They Shall Come to Pass as Broken Heroes

 

And They Shall Come to Pass as Broken Heroes

Courageous heroes, tormented by screaming sounds resounding, in the persistent storm,

All bound in brotherhood, bravely rallying in defiance, where the shells, and rockets swarm.

Under the smoky shroud, soldiers entrenched, under thermite fireballs, cascading from the sky,

United in deaths fatal resolve, where the victorious sights, will be seen in someone else’s eye.

Marking time, before the final call, when their valiant souls, will be abruptly snatched away,

Taken from wars brutal scape, where the worlds vibrant colour, has turned to a world of grey.

One minute, as fighting fit soldiers, repelling the onslaughts, with guns and mortars ablaze,

In an instant “MEN DOWN!” searing heat, sizzling their flesh, in the luminous molten haze.

The sudden shock, agony, and excruciating pain, triggering an intolerable firestorm inside,

Their lurid dreams, their restless thoughts, coming to pass, now destined for deaths divide.

Strong muscled soldiers, chests chiselled in stone, never one to shy away from the iron rain,

Suddenly facing the battle of all battles, against life or death, desperately struggling in pain.

Flesh eating thermite, burning deep, sapping hope, the flow of life, from their beating heart,

Drifting into a drowsy state, where the point of no return is nigh, their destiny falling apart.

Beyond life’s sweet taste, of precious love, or the blinding dour, of deaths bitter revenge,

To join the fallen ranks solemn parade, in times eternal drift, where infinity knows no end.

Beset by feverish hot and cold flushes, fighting for their lives in shock, bodies shutting down,

To be left behind, amidst the sad sight of lost soldier’s empty shells, upon the battle ground.

While some think them romantic fools, the script of fate already engraved, upon their stones,

The time they never had, rotting their worldly shapes away, scavengers scattering their bones.

Over eons, the bones ground by sand into cosmic dust, to be dispersed through the universe,

Leaving only the lost souls drifting, eventually forgotten, and the thought of war their curse.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (Nov 2022)

Beware His Wicked Web of Lies Will Take a Hold of You

 

Beware His Wicked Web of Lies

Will Take a Hold of You

Like a bedevilled gander, loudly quacking, with his false propaganda, of deceit and rage.

As captivated teenagers, watch the old grey goose, selling his empty lies, upon the stage,

Casting dark clouds over, the Word, the Way, the Truth, and over Eternal Salvation,

Venerating the coldblooded war, that’s brought great shame, upon the Russian nation.

His blasphemy, turning the testament upside down, deceitfully politicking on God’s word,

Evil discourse, condemning the rest, provoking his hatred, his argument blatantly absurd.

Letting burst, with bill tightly pursed, sowing the wicked grains of war, within their brains,

Conjuring up romantic imagery, glorifying dead Russian heroes, sanitised of bloody stains.

With the odds heavily stacked against Russia, in the war, causing awful misery, and pain,

He attempts, to pit their minds, against other Slavic nations, and the country of Ukraine.

In a David and Goliath battle, with a twist, the cards stacked wrong, victory now in doubt,

It would appear, that the Kremlin’s strategies have failed, Putin has taken the wrong rout.

But still, the goose persists, his bid, selling their souls to Satan, as the dark angel in disguise,

Manipulating more vulnerable minds, bound to face, the flaming missiles, from the skies.

Making scornful charges, toward the cowardly comrades, who took conscriptions flight,

As they headed west, to live another day, from the futile war, that wasn’t theirs to fight.

For they realised, that being free to decide, and live, is far better, than being stone dead,

Escaping the demonic madness, pouring shame on them, now comrades who safely fled.

Beware Russian youth, he still holds the key, to occupy your minds, to lead you all astray,

To join the folly, of his goose stepping on the stage, as fleeting heroes, sent into the fray.

As comrades sent into the ranks, to do as you are commanded, to be a mindless plodder,

To face the grisly onslaught, shortly returning, dressed in black plastic, as cannon fodder!

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (Nov 2022)

And Then You Drew a Redline Through Someone Else’s Land

 

And Then You Drew a Redline

Through Someone Else’s Land

Beyond your lavish lifestyle, where only pipedreams, of wealth are had,

Exists the peasant class, overwhelmed, with hopeless sentiments so sad!

As your nations collective inspirations expired, all good has gone askew.

Lateral and divergent thinking, have surrendered, to your point of view!

You’ve bred an indigent nation, full of mindless discontent, while it bled,

Constantly trying to blame the west, in blinding bitterness, and hatred.

The people at your disposal, strictly bound, to do exactly as they’re told,

With their political views, and actions, closely monitored, and controlled.

Living under a dome of silence, in accordance, with your rigid word of law,

As you schemed, plotted, and cast your curse, to keep the peasant’s poor.

Manipulating their thinking, and censuring everything they’d do, and say,

Dousing their thinking fires, and discarding them, when they went astray.

Undermining eastern countries, pitting Slavic nations one against another,

Conscripting kindred, into your futile wars, served up as Cannon Fodder.

But who are we, to question your power, and contempt for innocent life?

The hardship of your mandates, the tension, the discord, and the strife.

What point, that we should dictate terms, call your sins, into contempt?

For you chose a different path, far from the state of humanity, exempt.

As we were left, the acrid taste, the poison, from your chequered lines,

To bear the painful affliction, of the comrades, complicit to your crimes.

And you, and respective kin, will be ostracised, for an awfully long time!

Inside the melting pot, until you’ve learnt to follow, a friendly party line.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (Nov 2022)

What Love Begets

 

What Love Begets

Life, set to grow, to love, and learn, a blossoming plume,

Like a tiny bud, beginning to burst, into a beautiful bloom.

Her gorgeous eyes, like radiant gems, that sparkled bright,

Set within her joyful smiles, of happiness, and pure delight.

Her unfiltered curiosity, and inquisitive mind, a tiny sponge,

Being gently nurtured, prepared for life, to take the plunge.

Her tender heart, more precious than, its weight in gold,

And her enchanting innocence, a great pleasure to behold.

Alas, now the captivating colour, from her face has passed,

Her gentle breath has gone; her heart has pulsed its last.

At her side, her devoted parents, stricken with disbelief,

Unable to hide the agony borne, now wracked with grief.

Together lost, within the salty stream, of tears they cried,

As sadness tugs, at their souls, like painful knots inside.

With devoted hearts still tethered to the love, they’ve lost,

Their miserable minds, still too sensitive, to weigh the cost.

Father too emotive, wrought, with the unbearable pain,

Mother powerless, to bring back, her infant’s life again.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (Oct 2022)

A Young Daughters Innocence Now Gone

 

A Young Daughters Innocence Now Gone

In the sad, sad, space, wherein her pure innocence once dwelled,

Skulks the unwelcome shame, an abject discontent, unparalleled.

By day, having to face the world, with the awful scars that she hides,

Living in the sallow state, of unease and fear, where misery resides.

Each night, her mind restlessly set, to replay the fears that she faced,

When her childhood dreams, were so crudely shattered, and debased.

Now haunted with horror, playing over, a constant prompt of the pain,

Unable to comprehend, what had happened, nor find peace ever again.

Reliving the wrath each night, her soul sullied over, and ripped apart,

Powerless to stop, the unsavoury demons, now wrenching at her heart.

Terrified of the brutal beasts, who cruelly cast her purity, into disarray,

Apprehensive, that they might return again, to forcefully spirit her away.

Back into that dark cellar, where acrid smells of torture, are still thick,

Where brutal acts, were performed, and the foul stench made her sick.

Dreaded Orcs, leaving her there to die, battered, bloodied, and bruised,

Shivering in shock, sobbing in distress, lying bound, and badly abused.

Fear has no friends, as it plays upon her mind, with worry and torment,

Trapping her, overwhelming, and choking her, with uncontrollable lament,

Now she lives each day, in broken hearted pain, reticent and withdrawn,

Until foul memories, are triggered again, summoning yet another storm.

Painful emotions, so tightly bound, bottled up inside, waiting to escape,

Bringing back the demons, the groping hands, the agony of her rape.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (Oct 2022)

Do Svidaniya! Posledneye Proshchay!

 

Do Svidaniya! Posledneye Proshchay!

The Russian mums, have said a hasty goodbye, and it will be their very last,

Their boys are much too young to die, their lives have really quickly passed.

But Putin just wants to fill the gaps, with pawns, and he doesn’t give a toss,

Yes, they are just his cannon fodder, he really doesn’t care about the cost.

Just lives bought with a piece of tin, while Russian son’s decay, turning to dust,

And a brand-new Lada car, that with time, will break down, turning to rust.

The lads are being rushed straight to the frontline, arriving in a day or two,

Comrades issued with rusty Kalashnikovs and expected to know what to do.

Thrown into the deep end, of the bloody cesspool, compelled to sink or swim,

To hold the faltering line, even though the chances of survival, are really slim.

The frontline is like a hungry beast, it devours all the men who come to pass,

Especially the peasant farmers poor sons, and the disadvantaged working class.

They have been told that it is a great honour, to fight under the Russian flag,

Even though within the week, they are likely bound for home, in a body bag!

The boys have bought Putin a little time, that is all, that they could really do,

When it would be much better, if Putin’s packed up his army, and withdrew.

Fraught a Lesson to be Learned

 

Fraught a Lesson to be Learned

Haunted with deaths dark desire, to rid rebellion, and erase alternate thought,

His mindless craving, transformed into a hunger, that has great misery brought.

The genocidal deeds, and malicious strokes, an exceedingly sad state of affairs,

As he constantly shifts, blame to the west, a ploy now met with deafened ears.

He lives the illusion, of the terrible lies he’s told, in their repetitive monotones,

Burdened with ongoing failures, and frustrated, by the ineptitude of his clones.

Each sour step, beset with logistical nightmares, and random rockets thrown,

Desperately clinging, onto his wild dreams, and the evil seeds, that he’s sown.

As exploited bridges, become badly broken, and the bitterness burns his heart,

The cloud of darkness, steadily swelling, as his country is slowly ripped apart.

Despondently considering, his wickedness upon Ukraine, ruthlessly begotten,

While within his rancour soul, pure malice prowls, that cannot be forgotten.

His lust for power, a toxic tumour that’s spread, now too invasive to restrain,

By fear he has recklessly inflicted, the malignant residue, that sadly remains.

His mind still fixed, in deep thought, now caught gazing, into the silver glass,

Wondering how, he’s become a sad reflection, and a mirror of the distant past.