Johnathan Colourfield's Poetry - 2. Memoriam To Soldiers - A Poetry Anthology

In The Love of Hate and War

The rain falling through the mortar drenched sky,

along the dark lines of immoral combat that does not stop the amazement of the world...
The design, not of expectation but through the rush of advance and the thrill of British battle,
the world was unready for what was to come...

In such a situation the vision was unclear although in the hearts they knew it was unjust.
To fight for a cause of protection is just,
To fight for a dream of domination is truly unbearable
The decision is only ever agreed at the end of the wars,
at the end of such suffering,
at the end of such empowerment.
In the souls of each officer, only remembered for what they have done.

Will they one day be united in desperate glory or shall they be forgotten in the graves of the forbidden?
The hearts of the soliders, torn apart for bloody battle,
torn apart for unbelieveable reasons.
If you could hear the sounds of their cries,
in such pity you would not hear the crashing of their guns,
Would you ever just tell the ardent lie of Dulce Et Decorum?
Or would you you attend your Rendezvous?
It is of course inevitable, there will always be war but
at the end of the day,
at the end of the war
they will proclaim that it was such a lovely war
they will proclaim that the fight was justifiable.
But the soliders, their hearts and minds, were tainted and those destroyed all for the greater good.
Only remembered for what they have done,
God save the hearts, the minds, the families of the soliders,
for in deep reflection you can see
that the war was lost, in emotional terms...
At the end of the war...

We won nothing... and lost much much more...

Would You?

Would you tell them the past was over and they could never go back?
In the history of their lives, the world was not as you see it...
Would you call them lost when all they needed was to be found?
Wandering lost forever into the past and into the memories of things best forgotten...
Would you keep a part of them with you forever?
Keeping their notebook for the memories of their times in the trenches so you can remember them for what they did...
Would you stop them from commiting the most vile acts so they could wipe out their memories?
Keeping all of the danger away to keep them resisting the urges...
Would you keep the objects away so they cannot perform their ambition?

If you were there, you would continue to understand
The pains of suffering of so many soldiers?
If you were there, you could call yourself lost forever because of what you would see and hear,
The sounds of the constant firing of the blazing guns.
If you were there, you kept what you could find, you never knew if it would be handy,
the rotting corpses had so much to grab, of course in respect...
If you were there, you would still hear the screaming and beg for it to stop,
If you were there, you could see the end of everything is the start of a new life...

Without the pain,
Without the suffering,
Without the war...

Hallucinations

Stepping along the platform, the sensual figure of unimaginable beauty wandered,
Her hair swinging from left to right, almost like the blonde beauty, Marilyn Monroe,
but still with that munichionnette feel, her attractive features intensified,
her lips rouged from several kisses over the last few weeks.
She approached the crowd of little boys running off to war,
their minds open waiting for her to make them release,
her figure moving swifty,
her figure almost reaching one of the boys until,
she dissappeared...

The little boys were grown soliders,
upon the train travelling to France to fight off the fritz and win the war,
they knew this was not the case.
The leaders said "Back by Christmas", in high jest,
still the wiser of the soliders knew how this war would escalate.
The soliders were already hallucinating,
the soliders were already beyond help.
They were heading for France and the chances were they were never coming back.
It hurt them,
It hurt them all,
Some were already driven to insanity.
For the common man, it was an easy escape. Spend the war in a cozy war hospital,
but they knew the society opinionated view,
if you were insane you were useless,
you weren't even worth the uniform you had on...
The orderlies strutting round with matron's peacock ways around the men who had lost their minds,
vomiting at food,
vomiting at memories,
all having to be save by the shrinks,
some refusing treatment because of emasculation,
some refusing treatment because of fear of unravelling their true selves.
Although, this was what they needed to do,
see themselves for what they truly are...
it hurt them all to the pit of their stomach because they knew while they were in safety,
while they were away from the danger,
their friends were guttering, choking, dying...

It hurt them so because the boys on the train were the ones who were going to die next,
and they were going to die so cruelly, through the means of useless war,
through the means of idiotic conflict,
through the eyes of a true solider.
The soliders that served for the great England,
The soliders that declared that they would be part of the war,
not like the cowards who escaped the war for simply rejective reasons,
The soliders that observe their friends slowly going away and never coming back...

The soliders that were slowly dying...