tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69146388665434109692011-04-21T14:16:20.271-07:00thedivinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418899930655311980noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6914638866543410969.post-75673687450574101932008-10-07T09:13:00.000-07:002008-10-07T09:18:37.653-07:00These blades of grass, cut me deep<div>Tiny faces on each one-</div><div>Each one disgruntled as the began to weep</div><div>Begging for the sun. </div><div><br /></div><div>This wind is tormented</div><div>Flying on by, Journey never ending</div><div>I hear its whispers </div><div>Scratching at my ears</div><div><br /></div><div>The steamy sand is getting hot</div><div>Burning my feet-</div><div>Slowly ever  began to sink</div><div>Be Quick!</div><div>For one last gasp of air.</div><div><br /></div><div>Brett Reed</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6914638866543410969-7567368745057410193?l=thedivineblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>thedivinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418899930655311980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6914638866543410969.post-59574883064874771072008-10-07T09:04:00.000-07:002008-10-07T09:13:28.808-07:00Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,<div>Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through</div><div>   sludge,</div><div>Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs</div><div>And towards our distant rest began to trudge. </div><div>Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots</div><div>But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;</div><div>Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to hoots</div><div>Of gas shells dropping softly behind. </div><div><br /></div><div>Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,</div><div>Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;</div><div>But someone was still yelling our and stumbling</div><div>And flound'ring like a man of fire or lime. . . . </div><div>Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,</div><div>As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.</div><div><br /></div><div>If in some smothering dreams you too could pace</div><div>Behind the wagon the we flung him in,</div><div>And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,</div><div>Hs hanging face, like a devils sick of sin;</div><div>If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood</div><div>Come gargling from the forth-corrupted lungs, </div><div>Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud</div><div>Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, - </div><div>My friend, you would not tell at such high zest</div><div>For children ardent from some desperate glory,</div><div>The old Lie: Dulce et Decorum Est</div><div>Pro Patria Mori </div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6914638866543410969-5957488306487477107?l=thedivineblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>thedivinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11418899930655311980noreply@blogger.com0