Our Battle.

Copyright Bethany Gomersall. 6th of the 11th 2011.

Our Battle.

Our minds held little but hope,

To be diminished by those we held dear,

We were marched to our quarters, like cattle, newly transported,

From the colour of before, to the darkness and dampness of here.

   The Sergeants demonstrated no mercy,

   Our eyes came open with a pull of will,

   Helped by our comrades who saluted our superiors,

   By a raise of a hand before a voice so shrill.

        Our intellect became stronger with knowledge,

        And our armoury grew larger in size,

        Our leaders recruited, then recruited again,

        Those whose hearts grieved – our allies.

                   But now it was inevitably nearing,

                   The fatal battle our platoon feared,

                   Engraved on our hearts for eternity,

                   Those who sought the passage and persevered. 

                             And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds,

                             As we waited until that dreaded July,

                             A tornado rending the sails of progress,
                            

                             Of which many did deny.

                                      Then came the final, fundamental shot, 

                                      Which struck our lives hard,

                                      The choir cried a voice of mourning,

                                      As we entered the war scarred.

The battle collapsed into our welcoming arms,

And we embraced the change that we had endured,

Again, we marched to our stations, tigers of the field,

Independence flickering through us as we sat, matured.

Though, our acceptance didn’t veil our terror,

Shortly, it seemed to slightly disappear.  

However, we came from the colour of before,

To the darkness and dampness of here.

Loner

I am a loner,

Banished from my pack.

I hail miserably up to the bright moon,

Cursing his untouched happiness. 

The wind leaned forward, touching my soft fur as if in sorrow.

Darkness swoops, increasing my sadness, pain and worry.

My head droops low and I weep, my tears explaining my unknown grief to the wood.

Why am I a lone Wolf?

I am a loner,

My mother lost.

I cry bitterly up to the bright sun,

Cursing her unscathed love.

The Sunlight leans forward, bathing me in brightness as if to comfort me.

The trees loom over me, increasing my melancholy, craving and anxiety.

My tail sinks low and I sigh, showing my unhappiness to the jungle.

Why am I a lone Leopard?

I am a loner,

My family gone.

I glance sadly at the everlasting forest,

Cursing his untouched faultlessness.

The grass leans forward brushing my orange fur as if showing concern.

Gloom covers me, increasing my heartbreak, fear and unease.

My head bows low and I cry, accounting my grief to the forest.

Why am I a lone Monkey?

Realisation

I realise now,

Like I should have done,

That I am not the only one,

To seek advice,

To run away,

To shield myself

From the path that lay.

I regret now,

Like I should have done,

When I heard the last bird song.

My journey ahead,

To find the lord,

To realise myself,

To betray the sword.

(I don't know what i was thinking when writing this.... hmmmm....)

The Evil Beach

The salty sea air ambushes my eyes as my clothes whip around my ankles.

The fierce wind, as if it was a ferocious battle through land and air, fought against the many people infiltrating its territory.

My eyes swiftly fall on the sea, a demon of death, confusing its prey with it’s continues glittering.

Children laugh and play, unaware of the dangers covering the land.

And I am left petrified.

The face of the beach!

The face of the beach.

Softly I cry, tears streaking along my freckled, yellow cheeks.

People slowly trudge across my face, leaving dents that quickly get blown away, due to my soft breathing. 

A big hole, positioned at the end of my face, leads to bottomless darkness, as pink humans, around the opening, began to dig deeper, there white spades gleaming.

My green eyes, smothered in salty water, leave people breathless, wile black boats encircle them.

Situated north, above both my eyes, black and brown seals, in a line, swim together, only separated by a small bridge, connecting my cheeks and forehead.

Seaweed, in long streaks of brown and gold, cover the top of my head, falling out rarely.

For I am a beach.

x (I am not really scared of beaches btw) x

My stick helps to guide me along,

In the distance I hear a faint bird song.

My senses are exquisite but one.

I feel the warn summer sun.

I touch most writing, if not read.

I smell the sweetness of the bakers’ bread.

My pet labrador shadows my pain.

I taste the fear of going insane.

People are unseen but not unloved.

I see nothing, a curse from above.

My dog helps to guide me about.

I feel the liquid from the water spout.

I’ve always had four, but I do not care.

At the dazzling sea I usually stare,

To sooth my tearing, weakening heart,

And smell the delicious apple tart.

I taste the fear of being hated.

As I hear nothing because I am ill-fated.

x By Bethany x

(This is a poem about disadvantaged children - please post comments) x