Martyr. She shuts her eyes, and a hopeless tear falls from her cheek upon your face, She has cherished every second, every odd moment in the silence, never replaced. A curious finger of an adolescent child tickles as it runs down your head, It feels your fingers, helplessly; timid lips kiss the places you’ve bled. You can’t feel, but the air is filled with the sweet scent of victorious blood, And the tense feeling suffocating the departed souls, emerging from bodies, well shut. The more difficult the routes of separation seem to get to your wounded heart, The sense of martyrdom guides you over this disappointed and much visited path. A dozen heroes and brothers have shed their lives, and have faced such solemn grief, Vain would be the count for a dead man, for your brothers were brutally butchered as sheep. If only you could hear the Holy man, and how his words would have consoled you, And how his uncertain promises made your daughter smile, there was nothing else she could do. Certainly, your beloved, would leap back once more into a fit of irrepressible cries, When all the other widows would follow her lead, consoled by their children’s eyes. How many selfish, gullible victims of grief would be thinking about a permanent end? Is this for why you bled for your parents, your wife, sister, brothers and friends? Shame shall overshadow these laymen when they recover from this detestable snivel, And realize that the fallen foes were never worth their curse to pursue trails to hell. Neither for such overwhelming love, or such devouring fame did you die hard and brave, It is but the novelty, the pleasure to give, the cool sense of worthiness that you alone crave. Die nobly O zeal stricken knight of valor, die rapid or tedious, as you may choose, Take your time to faintly smack your wife and child, and say goodbye, for you have nothing more to lose. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Comments please.
replying to your subtitle.. i think people who really think they are writters should spend AT LEAST an hour on any piece.. hehehe the longest ive spent none-stop bent over a pad, was for 12 hours trying to write and perfect a piece as for this itself.. i think its very mature poem.. it flows well and there was no pause in it due to confusion or short metering.. Imagery was reflected very well and its easy to see the effort you showed in it..
thanks for the comments. Tremulant- i don't like to spend much time on my poems. i let it flow out as fast as possible so that the emotion doesn't fade. thanks for the comments all
i disagree.. the more time you reflect on something.. the more you dwell on a certain context.. will affect how close you become to a piece you wrote not only that but it will help you understand more about the emotion or situation however, time isnt the matter.. its the effort and skill you put into a poem that defines it.. otherwise it will just became a rant or a collection of emotional words
i disagree.. the more time you reflect on something.. the more you dwell on a certain context.. will affect how close you become to a piece you wrote not only that but it will help you understand more about the emotion or situation however, time isnt the matter.. its the effort and skill you put into a poem that defines it.. otherwise it will just became a rant or a collection of emotional words [/b][/quote] thanks for your suggestion, but i guess that every writer has his own style derived from his own comfort in writing. so, you may disagree, but mine's the way it is, and my work has been appreciated by amazing poets of LPA themselves. bless them all