More Poems

These were written by my youngest son, 2 years ago when he was 14. He's definitely the bright one of the family and was reading stuff like 'The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy' and 'Lord of the Rings' when he was 7. Quote "I don't really understand this bit here, Dad". "What?" "Where Ford Prefect says that going into hyperspace is a bit like being drunk, and Arthur Dent says that's not too bad and Ford says he ought to ask a glass of water...."
Anyway Here are two of his poems. The first should have been posted yesterday - Armistice Day - but I spent most of the day working and then getting drunk (see previous post - 'Gin')

Lives lost in No-Mans-Land

Over the deafening blasts of gunfire and screams of pain,
The signal comes, we turn and run from the death of the trenches.

Trudging wearily forward, each step torture,
Faces barely visible through layers of mud,
Not speaking, limping, sodden, weary, tormented,
Splattered in mud, hair filthy and matted.

Stiffening, we heard and saw gas, poison, death.

Without a thought, shifting our heavy packs,
On went clumsy masks,
But one man chokes.

Gas thickens; shadowy figures try to escape the deadly air,
Drowning in clouds of reeking death,
Drifting to innocent souls now writhing in choking agony,
Retching and staring in horror.

If never that is seem by man, by far too soon it would be,
The filthy bloody face of the writhing man shows what war is,
Never my friend would you have seen with no disgust, no sorrow,
No hate for the common enemy.

But to imagine is to know the rags, the bare bones of what is told,
The sooner you die, the sooner it’s over,
As known when hearing liquidated lungs splutter out spraying
Glory and relief to die.

Never again say, my friend, “do not cower, be proud, war is glory,

You know nothing.

I Do Believe

I do believe that I can cleave the head off
someone’s neck,
The shoulders gone the blade has shone
He’s dead no need to check.

I do believe that I just sheathed a sword
That once drew blood,
It slashed and stabbed and whirled about
And laid it’s foes in mud.

I do believe that I can breathe while others
I know don’t,
The bony hands that wrung their necks means
Blow and suck they went.

I do believe that I achieved
A never ending war,
In which men of many nations,
Went mad at what they saw.

I do believe that I’m the best
That have been born,
Thus I dig myself a grave
For this is what I’ve sworn.

He treats death with a touch too much relish for my liking - a combination of extreme youth and computer games I reckon.......