My Prison of Visions
Another bomb explodes, bodies far and wide;
The concussion spreads, resembling a tide.
These terrorist, murderers they are, soldiers not;
Targeting the young, old, murder they plot.
These visions I have seen, imprison my mind;
In a world of evil, the pits of mankind.
Where children are slain, used for their purity;
Terrorist know the good, saving the young is surety.
The prison that holds my mind is hell;
Where the evil call home, long they dwell.
This prison was created, by the sons of the devil;
Terrorist who seek many deaths, organized to bedevil.
They murder their own, who just seek peace;
They only want a vote, of who shall police.
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poem by Joe Moore
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Combat Soldier
Many accept the name of soldier,
Yet sit in the office, at the rear.
Whilst the real soldier, the combat soldier,
Fight the enemy, eye to eye.
Their uniforms dirty, faces weathered,
Hands rough, minds tethered.
They’ve seen death’s hand, reaching for them,
Their friend’s, death did condemn.
Their weapons are scratched, and used,
Long in the battle, they are abused.
These soldiers seek refuge, in the wire,
Where many spend the operation in its entire.
The combat soldier gets a short rest,
Only to go back out, confined by their vest.
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poem by Joe Moore
Added by Poetry Lover
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