44
By Phalanx
We put our hope deep.
We dig fox holes and wait for tomorrow.
We don't get tired or make excuse when we're tired.
​We put ourselves out of our bodies and keep killing because we're
trained to.
No one else is here but us.
We drag our buddies out of getting blown to shit.
Then we kill some more.
​It's all the same, so far from home.
Tracers, rapture and flack.
Merry Christmas from the Arden.
​Don't forget us.
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Copyright 2016 Phalanx
Published on Friday, December 23, 2016.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Author's Note:
This is for Papau, the Christmas he never got.Comments on "44"
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On Friday, December 23, 2016, Iron Blood Orphan
(10) wrote:
Merry Christmas mate