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War poetry


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The shot rang out from the STV40

bullet heading for its target

the soilder in his death throughs

another job done for the sniper

another life lost

another Nazi death

closer to victory

The great Russian Patriotic war would soon end

Feel free to add more I will be adding two more unless I can think of more. BTW the great Russian Patriotic war is what the USSR called WWII. Also a STV40 was a Soviet sniper rifle.

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Another Poem: Horrors of War

Horrors of War.

There are so many.

If only I had a penny for every one.

I'd be the richest person under the Sun.

Horrors of War.

The ambush.

The blood of the unsuspecting flying.

The death of veterans and of kids just arriving.

Horrors of War.

The invasion.

The enemy knows your coming.

And then meets you with heavy fire.

You cannot win until they tire.

Horrors of War.

The innocent deaths.

They didn't mean to kill the civilians they say.

While the enemy shouts yay.

The darkness of good has been revealed.

The layer of self righteousness has been peeled.

So now those innocents are gone?

That's just wrong.

They never did anything to you.

Except maybe throw a shoe.

So why is it they are the first to die?

Probably because they cannot resist.

They are like a harmless cyst.

But now the bodies are hidden in the mist.

So who really is good and who is bad?

Will we ever no without becoming mad?

The good can be bad and the bad can be good.

Its all part of the Brotherhood.

The Brotherhood of War.

The bond that all soldiers share,

no matter where they are,

or what language they speak.

There is no right or wrong in war.

War has never been pretty.

And do not think it will start now.

For we have all seen what we are up against.

And we shall never crush all terrorists.

For they are like cockroaches.

Impossible to kill.

So look on the bright side.

You may not have to kill.

Even if strife is now part of life.

The battle lines are now blurred.

There is no true front line.

Civilians and military are hand in hand.

Blended together as never before.

For the single purpose of war.

We must not break down...

We must not cry...

Most importantly we must not die.

We must fight as never before.

To end this unending war.

Fear may have been planted in our minds.

But not in our hearts.

Because if it comes down to life or death...

We will choose the strife of life.

To strive, to seek, and not to yield in this war.

Terrorism may meet its end one day.

But we shall all be on the mend...

As war has no true end.

Maybe that is the true horror of war.


Poem: Fall of a Nation

Rated: PG-13

I watched it all.

From beginning to end.

I knew it couldn't last.

But I could hope.

The buildings bombed.

The bullets raining.

The mushroom clouds.

The slaughter.

The rivers of blood.

As they ran from the towns.

People unable to escape.

No matter race, sex, or religion.

No place to hide.

It ended all in one day.

The United States had seen its last sunrise.

I don't care what they used to say.

Freedom can die.

I know because I watched its death throes.


Poem: The Hunters

Rated: PG-13

They came one day.

The Hunters.

Everything changed.

We thought war would come.

But it did not.

Everything changed.

They gained our trust.

Then betrayed us.

Everything changed.

With the screams of a thousand d*mned souls.

The Hunters came with starships of flesh.

Everything changed.

Fighting back made it rain blood.

The land was poisoned.

Everything changed.

We fought them off.

We had won.

Everything changed.

Within months we will all die.

The planet is poisoned and so are we.

The Hunters didn't change us, they killed us.


Poem: Runes, Celts, and Dreams

Runes, what do they say?

I struggle to read them.

What are they?

A warning from the past?

A sign of the future?

What is the symbol I continue to see?


A wise and ancient people.

Or so I'm told.

Why do they appear near the runes?

What is being foretold?

These things they must make sense.

Then I see it.

Old stone monoliths.

Stonehenge and Easter Island.

The Pyramids too.

All pointing to what was under my nose.

It is too late now though.

I stand upon this beach.

I failed to save those cities.

Engulfed in nuclear flame.

Israel is fallen.

Forsaken as they came.

I was responsible for all this.

I was the one who watched all of this in my dreams.

I could have prevented it.

Or so it seems.

Now it is too late.

The flames of war are high.

Now there are two things to do.

To live and to die.

(Dreams, so haunting.)


That's all I can post for now.

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Wow damn good poetry. Anyway another one

The Panzershreikt whistled towards its target

a British Churchill tank

into the armour it went piercing deeply

detonating in its penitration.

The tank swerved of the road

exploded the ammunition

its crew in flames screaming

and the Nazi AT team smiled

more Ami fools destroyed.

AT - Anti Tank

Panzershreikt - a German AT weapon, a missile launcher

Ami - German for the Allies

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Abstract poem:

The light shone just so bright,

in all of its might,

the cloud rose up so tall,

it could be seen by all.

The devastation wrought,

new lives people sought,

but many just could not,

and they sat, and they rot.

All in the streets,

seeped remains of red meat,

the smell of decay,

where bodies just lay.

Still the fighters swooped low,

with each heavy blow,

lives torn apart,

with ruthless black hearts.

The bombs fell and fell,

and everyone yelled,

"please spare us, please do,

we'll even join you."

But onwards it went,

relentless and bent,

the horror unfolds,

the stories untold.

Into the night,

went fires and lights,

the lurking tanks,

rushing up the banks.

Resistance was light,

they had no more fight,

the moment had come,

the war had been won.

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The silver, the tan

The steel, the sand

The sphere

That glows from

Orange to yellow to orange to red

Back again

The fight

The light

From fiery bolts that pierce the sky

Rob the life

From those that were never ready to


Steel on steel

Horse on hound

Warriors screaming as they hit the ground

Blades unsheath




They don't stop

The blood

The pain

The flames that wane

Back again

Orange to yellow to orange to red

Avert your eyes soldier

Your brothers are already


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The frist line

We stand our ground

ready to fight

cos' death comes to all

We will never flee

for we fear not death

cos' death comes to all

The enemy charges

But we fear them not

cos' death comes to all

The close combat begins

but nomatter what we will never flee

cos' death comes to all

Now we hack and slash

but not for uor lives

cos' death comes to all

Now the battel is won

and our enemies lies dead

but still death comes to all

I have made this poem as good as a i can, say what you want, but i like it (more or less)

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  • 2 weeks later...

I think this is my best so far.

May peace come to us all


the eternal struggle


the eternal fight

can we ever win

or will we turn in flight

will we ever see its end

will it ever stop at all.

Will we ever live to see

the tanks stall

the barracks fall

the dictators crawl

the oppressed standing tall

someone who will bring down the wall?

May peace come to us all.

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  • 3 weeks later...

This poem is based on a Final Liberation (warhammer 40k game) battel I once forught as the Imperirum against the smelly Orcs.

I lay in my trench

wating for the orcs

I knew, that they were

bigger than me

tougher than me

and that they

outnumberd my and my freinds

The orcs ran forward

guning wild

roaring loud

killing my friends

I heard a loud noise

I looked up fearing to see

5 goffs shooting at me

but I saw the goffs running away

I looked back and saw

a Baneblade

3 Leeman Russ's

20 Space Marine

and a 100 gaurdsmen.

okay I nkow, it's not the best, but I had to write it.

Goffs: a clan of orcs

Baneblade: a superheavy tank whit 2 battelcannons, 2 lasers and 10 bolters (heavy machineguns)

Leeman Russ, a common tank in the Imperial army

Space Marines: the Imperial elite troops

Guardsmen: common inrantry.

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  • 4 weeks later...

Here are a few mini poems, I am considering binding them into one long poem based on the W.U.N.F whom I may have written a little about so far in the story ''the legend of the three heroes:


A vehicle over the hill

Through the trees

A vehicle here to kill

The gunner shooting all he sees

MSG: (Mobile shadow Generator)

Shadow of night, shadow for the plight

A sanctuary of night to fight the dark hearted

N.V.G trooper {night vision goggles}:

A night so dark as to be black pure as coal, some will see where some will not for that is their goal


To bring the light, his goal accomplished with that which grant’s him eagle like sight

mortar team:

Hear the whistle, it is the music of death,

Here he comes, still playing his music

You won’t be able to hear anything soon, so you may as well enjoy it


Death rides on narrow wings, those who send him see him through a glass… Of all things it reaps death like a mower to grass

(Just a few of my mini poems..

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