Wars and Hope


  • Childhood

    Poem Commentary

    A Boy Soldier revised.......

    Wars and Hope

    There he sat.

    Surrounded by a darkness without end.

    Silently crying within,

    Afraid he’ll give in

    To the emotions that are bursting to break free.


    This soul…

    So young but so old,

    Ceases to believe in something so bright;

    Thinking he’ll never see the break of a new dawn,

    Or the glittering shine of the moon

    Illumination on a still lake

    In the timeless hours before the sun

    Surrounded by the countless beauties of the night…

    Caught in an ageless realm.

    Or believing in something

    That should be an automatic given

    And not a privilege.

    Something that…

    To most…

    Has been too frivolously taken

    Or perhaps…


    Forgotten in time?


    What he would give

    To enjoy simply being a child

    And the overwhelming joys that it beholds

    …For even a day


    What he would give

    To once…even just once,

    See his lil’ sis and lil’ bro

    Not have a worry to portray,

    But just be able to

    Laugh, jump, skip, and play


    What he would give

    To once…even just once,

    See these two beautiful little faces,

    Smile brightly at something…

    Something as simple as the beauty of a tree:

    The changing of the leaves:

    Or the nippy but unquestionably

    Stunning white blanket,

    That winter brings.


    What he would do

    To once…even just once,

    See their melancholy smile

    Turned around

    Into an incandescent beam.


    What he would do

    To once…even just once,

    Not see them worked

    From day’s first light

    ‘Till night fall’s break.


    This is all he wants.

    To be able to see them

    Laugh, jump, skip, and play

    Without a worry to portray .

    For he doesn’t want his lil’ sis and lil’ bro

    To be ensnared in battle

    …Like he...


    For a childhood is what he missed.

    But no one can see this through his lies.


    From time to time…

    They are betrayed by his translucent eyes;

    So he ceases to believe in something so bright,

    Thinking he’ll never see the break of a new dawn.


    To be strong and perseverant,

    This is what he’s supposed to be;

    At least…

    That is what he believes.


    And…by this,

    Everything that is the truth

    Of what he feels

    Is buried, masked, secluded, forgotten…

    In less than a matter of moments

    As he continues to fight.

    By the strength of a soldier,

    With the heart of a soldier.


    To be strong and persevere,

    Is what a soldier does.

    ‘Cause no matter what hurls them to the ground

    A soldier and his bleeding heart

    Always stands up

    And carries on.


    For he fights a war

    With guns, tanks, and grenades.

    And every time he sets afoot upon that field of battle,

    A part of him shatters.

    Like glass fallen from a steady hand,

    And as he takes a pause,

    He looks around.

    To the left, to the right,

    Straight ahead and straight behind.

    Heart racing, pulse increasing.

    And in the corner of his eye,

    A fellow warrior makes…takes…

    One more opportune moment

    To try and fire on the opponent.


    As they come crashing to the ground

    (With crimson stained clothes,

    Heart racing, pulse increasing)

    Suddenly…everything slows

    Eyes become glassy and fogged.

    Heart quickly fades.

    Pulse resides to near inexistence,

    Making the fall sound as thunder.

    And by the time there face hits the ground

    There heart, mind, and soul…flatlined…

    With no hope of return.

    And a single tear is shed

    By our boy soldier,

    His heart racing, pulse increasing…

    For another friend

    Has been taken…


    This war he fights…

    Where thousands are left

    Lying in crimson puddles

    (Bleeding, wounded, dead)

    Causes a more fatal one within.

    Another war in which

    There seems to be

    No beginning…no end.

    A war where…

    He is not only a soldier

    But an entire army too.


    This life that he lives

    Isn’t really a life at all,

    But surviving in what is.

    And it keeps him away…

    Keeps him away from enjoying what he should be…

    A child without a worry to portray.

    And he wonders…

    How can people just stand by

    And just drape a veil over the immoral…the wrong,

    So they don’t have to act,

    Don’t have to think,

    And pretend not to see;

    As another precious young life is murdered…


    And another watches….

    Waiting for the next to die?


    But he doesn’t give up hope

    That someone will see

    The immorality that he sees

    In that which he lives each day;

    And in the way he’s forced

    To be a part of something that he abhors,

    When he shouldn’t have a worry to portray.

    But for now, he continues to fight

    In a useless battle,

    Waiting…hoping…and waiting some more,

    That someone will come

    And revive the children

    That have not been completely lost in battle;

    The ones who still have hope of being a child…

    And simply give them

    What all children should be freely given…

    A family…

    A home…

    A place where they know

    They can always return…

    A place where they can live

    Without fretting for their life

    Or having to watch every step they take

    Hoping that the next isn’t their last…

    A place where they will always…

    Always feel loved….


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    Chaos128 commented on Wars and Hope


    Exquisitely wrought and too painfully true. Nothing is ever the same.



    thank you

    Dano commented on Wars and Hope


    this is written with so much emotion and heart... very strong from from start to end... nicely done



    thank you so very much!! it's nice to know that some people are enjoying the read....

    dahlusion commented on Wars and Hope


    This is beautiful!! Simply heart-felt and powerful. You may want to read my poem: Imagine Not Going To War. Thank you for your insightful read. Bravo!!!



    Thank you much! and I will definitely check out your poem...

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    SmallFrie’s Poems (9)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Once Upon A Dream.... 1
    Gotta Get Away... 0
    Trapped 1
    Wars and Hope 3
    A Boy Soldier 2
    Which Road? 4
    The Unheard Cry 9
    Poetry Is A Way... 2
    Who Am I?? 4