fountain heads at watery rest

fountain heads at watery rest
liquids pounding on the shore
there's a ghastly war at hand
obliterating families and more

I pity the meek and the poor
the steeples at the battlement
the lost picador on the crest
bleeding across deserted land

there's no loving regiment
at the turn of day's core
just another minstrel band
in a country lost and sore




Poetry by Bob
Read 580 times
Written on 2014-06-02 at 13:21

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


F.i.in.e Moods The PoetBay support member heart!
I get the futility and atrocity of wars in these words... the shame of repeated history, like nothing's ever learned. Strong feelings your words conjure, very good.
2014-06-03



This is so sad and so true. The war rages on, on the poor and the helpless. There is no hero seed, no welcoming army to save the suffering masses, but only "the fountain heads at watery rest." I like the messages in your poems and your unique way of portraying it.
2014-06-02