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Bitter Tears
by Walter Jones (Age: 63)
copyright 07-21-2004


Age Rating: 4 to 127

 
Memories are covered in dust,

but words of love and war they stand;

Sorry is the pen born of rust,

Crushed by the dictator’s hand.



Few will ever see death grow new,

if you stand by, questioning what is fair;

add a bit of blood stir well, mix in you.

Kiss them and leave them over there.



"Now, don't you play at war," he said,

"dare not make any noise!"


Off to hell the soldiers went, dying in a bed.

Nightmares all his, the failing war toys;

Sleep the eternal rest; battle cry of the dead.


Oh, the days are long and shadows fall in the day.


Mother cries for her lost son, a sweet little boy.

Death calls for the man, but it does not have its way

The boy he returns; he is no one’s joy


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08-05-2004 Chelsea Armstrong    

Not only do we mishear the cries of mothers, but we also mishear the screams of lost lovers. Pain and suffering is well shown hear, my dearest Friend Walt. your imagiry is spectacular and amazing.
07-24-2004 Irina Guschina    

"Mother cries for her lost son, a sweet little boy".
You wrote about millions mothers who lost sweet sons, Walt. If only people could listen and hear all the crying of mothers…
Great poem, the poem for all the world. Thank you for sharing!
With love,
Irina.
07-22-2004 Lyle Berry    

A lot of power in this one Walter. The emotion and mood set here is well crafted. It's like a verbal war portrait, conjuring up images of battle scarred men and the horrors of the battle field. Excellent write.

Warm Regards,
Lyle
Visitor Reads: 624
Total Reads: 639
Comments: 3

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