WWII poemsAtop a Lonely Hill
Forlorn shapes rear their silhouettes from a hill.
The lonely hill bears the fallen, ever still
And approaching from the west comes peace
Coming to lay down her cold white veil
And cover the dead with a satin sail.
Oh, the bleeding drops of red
Where lay the soldiers cold and dead
Is the price that was paid for the prize?
The reward that was sought was won
Each man bravely gave for his sons.
Out of this plain, rears the lonely hill
Bearing white crosses, forever still.
Reminding us ever of the price of war
And why they kept the enemy at bay:
For their tomorrow, for our today.
My Hero stands,
And looks over a battlefield,
The ground shining with the spilt blood
Of both friend and foe.
His eyes are glossy with sin,
Melting into an emotionless pool of nothing.
He hates himself
for not trying hard enough,
but thats why I love him.
For he aided this fight not with a sword or gun,
But with the Red Cross on his hat,
And the bandages in his hand.