Ode to the fallen

#1
You've done your duty, now rest in peace.
Your battle is fought, now stand at ease.
We will not forget the sacrifice you made,
Brothers and sisters will not let your memory fade.
Although you're gone, you will live on,
in the hearts and minds of everyone.

Did you die in vain?
We may never know,
only time can tell us so,
But as each day passes,
your memory is there with the masses.

You fought in a war,
that you may not understand,
but you always did your job on demand.
For this we can do nothing but thank you.
However this much is true.
You fought so hard and now you're gone,
You fought so hard, Britains perfect son.




Im not much of a poet i know, but for some reason I felt compelled to do it.
Mods if its naff delete, I'll take criticism because to be honest I dont care.
Hope someone likes it though.
 
#9
Thank you for that Suits, sums it up very well.

As an aside, apply for the Poet Laureate, you are much better than he will ever be.
 
#10
Very nice poem indeed, suitsy! Just the right amount of emotion and poignancy without "going all Septic", if you know what I mean.

Well, since you've made such a bostin' start poetry-wise, how about a few more from time to time?

MsG
 
#11
Suitsy it was so good I picked what is considered to be Wilfred Owen's finest poem by way of comparison.

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
-- Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, --
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

September-October 1917

Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
 
#12
Excellent Suits U. A letter or a poem is often the best way to release your feelings when they are as strong as what yours are at the moment. Sometimes I write a poem and often delete it forever but at that moment it served it's purpose. Well done...
 
#13
nigegilb said:
Suitsy it was so good I picked what is considered to be Wilfred Owen's finest poem by way of comparison.

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
-- Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, --
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

September-October 1917

Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
I googled Wilfred Owen and read that he has a small book of war poetry. In my own words, there was a young man of 24 when he died who if it was not for his poetry would be a name lost forever amongst the thousands of other soldiers who gave their sacrifice during the great War.

So long ago a man so young left something remarkable for us all to read. Other than giving his life, aren't we so grateful that he put pencil to paper.
 
#15
Survivors

No doubt they'll soon get well; the shock and strain
Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.
Of course they're 'longing to go out again,' —
These boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk.
They'll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed
Subjection to the ghosts of friends who died,—
Their dreams that drip with murder; and they'll be proud
Of glorious war that shatter'd all their pride...
Men who went out to battle, grim and glad;
Children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.

Craiglockhart. October, 1917.
Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)
 
#16
It reads really well. Its good.
 

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