Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Poetry: Soldiers.

Lying on the ground breathing slowly...
Vultures roaming the sky, you can hear their voices.
I can't feel my hands or legs, or able to move a muscle.
It feels someone or something pinning me on ground.
I can't open my eyes, as if someone forcing them to be shut.

We were soldiers, and we fought, each on his own.
surviving a war, that nobody foretold the casualties
fighting for something others has started.
fighting not for glory, but survival of the battle.

Each second passes, I hope I don't die.
Each second passes, I don't regret it.
Each second passes, I wish things were different.
Each second passes, I wish this war ends.

What's the point of glory, what's the point of fame.
What's the point of money, where you can't spend.
Dying slowly, because of a mistake that we made.
slowly fading, slowly the heart beats....
then.... I...I....