When Legions of Soldiers Homeward Come

 

When Legions of Soldiers Homeward Come

Each day, as the dead Russians return, each one having paid the cost,

To join the immortal soldiers, in the dishevelled ranks, of spirits lost.

With bloody uniforms, torn to tatters, gaping holes, worn-out boots,

The baton passed on, to unwilling replacements, bedraggled recruits.

To plug frontline gaps, where the dead soldiers’ dreams, have gone,

To walk in the muddy footprints, of the poor soldiers, who passed on.

To stand on their firing steps, in search of certain death, biding time,

Waiting for the hand of the reaper, to pluck their soul, from the line.

Time dragging, fear laced with dread, of a painful end, does not abate,

Haunted by awful thoughts, of the walking dead, in their morbid state.

Obsessed with the thought, of never seeing the sight, of home again,

Subjected to a mountain of stress, shellshock, sending them insane.

Bouts of anger that come and go, each battle raging on, in their head,

Wrestling with madness, wishing it over, that they could join the dead.

So tired, overwhelming fatigue, the luxury of sleep, a thing of the past,

No time to rest, each futile attempt interrupted, with another big blast.

Plodding, in rain laden trenches, marching in mud, the muffled sound,

Short of food and water, an utter state of fatigue, dragging them down.

In the world, out of kilter, the brain out of balance, covered in grime,

The clock counting down, the sand, in each glass, running out of time.

Soon another fresh batch, of black body bags, being lugged around,

Packed into meat laden lorries, grinding their way, homeward bound.

No welcome home, no tears of joy, no mothers’ hearts full of relief,

No good news, no victory parade, just another hole, to fill with grief.

Beside late brothers in arms, where the lost legions, of dead soldiers lie,

Putin’s regime still deaf, to heartrending calls, stop sending them to die!

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (June 2024)

Left to Inherit the Legacy of Death

 

Left to Inherit the Legacy of Death

Each day, in sincerity, we hold on to HOPE, that the war, will SOON be over,

Only to discover, SOON is not on the side of life, that SOON, has no closure.

It seems to be a phrase, that never comes, just like HOPE, we cannot hold,

Time is not on the side, of the good soldiers, sent to die, “To never grow old!”

As the politicians procrastinate, choosing to sit, on the backbenches of wars,

Unwilling to step forward, to mount the firing step, and fight, for just cause.

Content to cultivate bunions, on their backsides, with the world out of skew,

Hiding behind their lies, as more, and more fresh blood, is added to the brew.

It is: Someone’s sons, someone’s daughters, someone’s mother, someone’s dad,

Not theirs! Locked in the world of words, and empty promises, creating bad.

They prolong the war, and profit from its trade, their indecision we condemn,

They are content, to leave a legacy of death; “As we are left to remember them!”

Death stalks, beyond their sight, in ignorance, they will not change their stance,

To put aside insanity, and award, the young men, and women, a second chance.

We plead commonsense, for the sake of innocence, the civilians caught in war,

For we are the ones, who feel the pain, who know the grief, who live the score.

As bad news comes, out of the darkness, and the hope we held, is suspended,

We are the ones, left with the legacy, death has brought, our lives upended.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (June 2024)

The Gravity of Grief Rain Down on Me

 

The Gravity of Grief Rain Down on Me

Each day, I seek you there, where you really loved to dance, upon the stage,

Suspended in that lonely place, where I still hear the sound, of music made.

Rising, arms extended, reaching high, elegantly wheeling, and circling around,

Soaring, and drifting, gracefully falling, light as a feather, softly floating down.

My eyes fixed, and spellbound, by each magic moment, mind set in a trance,

Each move carefully chosen, intricately woven, a delicate tapestry of dance.

Balance and poise, with your routine skillfully executed, gliding and swaying,

Never ending dream, my beautiful ballerina, cheerfully dancing and playing.

Deep inside my heart, my beloved little firefly, now gone, some world away,

Where you gracefully float, in unison with the mellow tones, that softly play.

Oh, the pain, now left in that place, where my love for you, so sadly wrings,

The fondest thought, of how you danced, like a puppet, set on silken strings.

In my heavy heart, that broken place, where still, the lovely sound, of song,

Still plays over, and over again, where tenderest memories of you, linger on.

Each day, sunrise to sunset, as I am caught within the never-ending drought,

Weight of grief, each waking moment, tortured by the discomfort of doubt.

My saturated soul, drowning within the sadness, of your beautiful spirit lost,

As I reflect, upon that joyful smile, oh my precious one, that I miss the most.

And as the curtain closes, to mark the end, of each long day, painfully drawn,

I cannot mend the scars, deep in my heart, now left, to endure deaths scorn.

There in solitude, where I stand, before the going down, the sun setting red,

There I wander, in my dreams, in the dark of night, with sorrow in my head.

As I gaze, upon the wonderous stars, out into infinity, softly lighting the way,

I feel, the celestial light, as it gently rains, down on me, beyond, light of day.

Each night, I search for you, in hope, to catch a glimpse, within infinity, afar,

For the one, bearing your name, as you dance your dance, amidst the stars.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (June 2024)

The Weight of a Nation

 

The Weight of a Nation

The grief of war, an ever-rising debt within, leaving the nation sadly strung,

With those they knew taken, there in their hearts, the awful sorrow sung.

His head bowed, deep in thought, the burden too much, too heavy to hold,

With the enormous weight, of a war-torn nation, pushing down on his soul.

While in his heart, the greatest sadness, the sight of people, laced with grief,

Desperately struggling inside, searching for salvation, searching for relief.

This the people’s hero, steadfast and strong, keeping the nation on track,

Each day, shouldering the weight, the relentless pressure, of each setback.

Holding hope, close to his heart, keeping the pulse of the nation, beating on,

The thought of people suffering, in anxiety of war, their treasured ones gone.

Every battle hard fought, his desperate pleas for help, consistently dismissed,

As Russia keeps pushing, he knows their mindless aggression, will not desist.

Every day the toll rises, the constant uncertainty, Putin’s instrument of fear,

Systematically converting the West, conquer and conquest, his final frontier.

Like a broken record, Zelenskyy pleads West, many words falling without sound,

On the deaf ears, of foreign powers, the politicians, mindlessly walking around.

Playing politics, in their Western Capitals, far removed, from the worst of war,

They have lost sight, of the precious freedom fought, resonating on their door.

Men with soft hearts, in the face of threats, cowards inside, on bended knees,

Their minds stuck in a rut, would sleep with the devil, they attempt to appease.

Thinking that they are too far removed from the thundering guns that blast,

As they dismiss, the lives of others, kidding themselves, not in their life passed.

When in reality the mad men, who rage unchecked, where bitterness breeds,

Plot and plan, mobilizing their war machines, planting exterminations seeds.

Still Ukraine waits, for the unwelcome weight to be lifted, for freedom secured,

To contend with their grief in peace, without fear, of the evil they have endured.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (June 2024)

Katerina Lost Forever Passed

 

Katerina Lost Forever Passed

Pure Katerina, angel of Kharkiv, so aptly called, amazing Katerina,

Your parents proud, cherished daughter, their joyful little ballerina.

Now burdened, by an unwanted war, that stole, their future away,

Taking their dutiful daughter, who sparkled, their little star of ballet.

Now living, the loving memories of the past, their precious one lost,

Languishing, in the taste of tears, they shed, left to pay deaths cost.

Oh, beautiful Katerina, within that special place, set inside my soul,

Your absence, I cannot bear, pain I cannot take, nor time console.

Katerina for you, my heartache, and the tender tears, in grief I cast,

The painful streams, that in steadfast love, inside forever, will last.

Oh, how I yearn! To be captured again, by your enchanting spell,

Watching the rhythm, of your dance, making my sensations swell.

Where we first met, within the mystical land, of fanciful thought,

Beyond the reality gap, my life of sadness, ere my pain is wrought.

Our minds melding within, the spell you crafted, my worries gone,

Charmed by the magic made, making my heartbeat, ever strong.

My eyes locked in a daze, within the enchanting dreams, you wove,

My thoughts, securely caught, in the paradise, that treasure trove.

Drawn into your dance, your inner core, where your magic waited,

To be as one, in the make belief world, where harmony resonated.

Caught in each moment, as we swayed, side to side, in the dance,

Lightly floating, in the clouds, caught in the motion, of our trance.

The symphony softly playing, its evocative refrain, the tune in sync,

Each movement, and sound, bound by the other, inside our rink.

Delicate notes playing, in accord, following the harmonious score,

As the tenderness of our touch, resonated inside, calling for more.

Each, and every move made, like the golden arrow, forever true,

Where beautiful memories remain, lodged inside my heart, for you.

The powerful chorus, that sung in harmony, my senses captivated,

Caught in the sanctuary, of the never-never land, that you created.

Where we sailed upon the stage, weightlessly soaring, in our mind,

Swept along within the tide, leaving our troubled thoughts, behind.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, in that embrace we held, so strong,

Plotting the path we traced, to the sweet sound, of lovebirds in song.

Light of my life, magic of your touch, soft colour, of your misty eyes,

Wherein, my spirit once swam, within those deep pools, of paradise.

The cozy place, blanket of warmth, wrapped in your tender throw,

Love of my heart, no one can erase, the joyful vision, luminous glow.

Each day, I dread the awful pain, that returns, to take my breath,

As I am cast, down into the heartless vision, of your dreadful death.

Still locked, inside the grief, within the war, that knows no bounds,

The awful sounds, where lines are crossed, and little hope is found.

Reminding me, of the angry battle, that restlessly rages, in my sleep,

Struggling to endure, the greatest test of all, the painful cost, I keep.

The heartbreak, of love we lost, each morning, the dream shattered,

As each crushing blow is dealt, upon my heart, bruised, and battered.

Knowing that your return, shall never be, upon the stage we shared,

And the beautiful embrace, of our dance, as our souls were paired.

If I could bring you back, across that heavenly divide, I surely would,

Alas, the power, I do not possess, I know that, in vain, I never could.

One day I shall pass, across the void, where life, and death, alternates,

In search of the place, in paradise, where my sweet Katarina awaits.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1Poet (May 2024)

No Answer to the Orphans Prayer

 

No Answer to the Orphans Prayer

The sudden blast, a shockwave knocking them back, the fatal blow,

His head hurting, ears loudly ringing, body tremors, acute vertigo.

Slowly gaining mindfulness, he stands, eyes searching for his mum,

There she lies bleeding, unresponsive, motionless, her body numb.

As confusion sets in, consuming him, his broken mind left dazed,

So much smaller now, the biggest part gone, the explosion erased.

His mother in absentia, her loving soul, suddenly wrenched away,

Now left with the cold embrace, of crushing sadness, life as a stray.

Lost in a broken heart, such an empty place, with nowhere to turn,

Searching inside, his little soul, feeling the sadness, that really burns.

Struggling to understand, impact of loss, the attention mother paid,

He cannot comprehend, too much to grasp, in disbelief, and afraid.

Left with desolation, and grief, unable to repair, the gaping hole,

Now absolutely shattered, sadness welling, ripping at his tiny soul.

In shock, he is too distressed to cry, as shock of remoteness, sets in,

Suspended in time, lost in the wreckage, of the sirens dreadful din.

Fixed to the spot, awaiting her return, the comfort of her embrace,

To lift him up, and together, take him away from this terrible place.

With his eyes closed, his mind struggling, to conjure her back again,

Alas, his silent prayer in vain, now another lost orphan, of Ukraine.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)

His Sickness Grows

 

His Sickness Grows

Each day, in pursuit of desolation, while ruining the lives of others,

Oh, the pleasure he gets, killing little children, and helpless mothers.

The genocide, a step too far, the hate that he has spread, too much,

Abundant misery, by his hand, so many have suffered, his evil touch.

The list of despicable crimes, that he has perpetrated, is overflowing.

A cloud of hatred, hanging over his odious head, constantly growing.

He is the Devil’s advocate, a scourge upon mankind, in Satan’s hand,

Protected by his loyal supporters, the homicidal cult, his brutal band.

Plotting the sadistic acts, executing more, and more, despicable pain,

Longing, his love to see, the face of terror, on survivors who remain.

His insatiable appetite, is seeing others suffer, people full of dread,

At the hands of his vile monsters, all the wicked Orcs, he has bred.

So content, to be the instrument of hurt, lives turned upside down,

As the ones they love the most, are sadly laid to rest, in the ground.

No respect, his heart so numb, sadism running rampant, in his veins,

There is no compassion, guilt, or remorse, where his brutality reigns.

He hears voices, in his head, as they call for more, he has no shame,

Hell bent, his daily fix, the call of death, the demons he cannot tame.

The road he has chosen, will end in certain death, he cannot retire,

He has made too many enemies, pushed his psychosis, to the wire.

Still the craving continues, totally addicted, in hedonistic pleasure,

With sickness, in his stricken mind, bound to his psychopathic tether.

So detached, from reality, far removed, like a spectator looking down,

No longer worthy, of the vacant throne, he will never wear the crown.

His voices in another dimension, his delusions in an alternate domain,

The lies that he lives, his demented gratification, that fuels all the pain

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)