Poem: Free Verse — “A Land of Peace” #amwritingpoetry


Wrote this a few days back. Edited it this New Year’s Eve. Sorry, it couldn’t be happier, but I hope you perceive the wish for that which is peaceful.


Credit: Seth Macey via Unsplash


I hear the blunt of your hammer,

Your riffle as it clambers;

If only to block out the ruckus,

While I’m tucked in flannels.

The world spins and stammers,

Your barrel it twirls, the gun’s reloaded.

I’m a maid of ages,

So, bring home my man, prisoner of war.

Life in medicine-hands, he’s grave and damaged.

No one plans life’s intense dramas, when they’re a blood-bath.

Bullots locked and loaded,

Zipping through air in motion slowed, air ripples —

As a surgeons hands riddle, shells from a civilian caught fleeing —

From a soldier he knows not, from a war he caused not;

From a visage of war, he’s not committed to fighting.

So, bring home my man, he’s the prisoner wounded,

The civilian in shackles; although, you’d never recognize their weight.

He’s the media image — the child crying enamored —

Of a wrinkled photo, the last of his mother.

Or, a soldier’s son’s tears dripping rivers,

Afraid and stammering, the stream of saltwater.

His sister caught snitching, but a morsel to spit-out.

And they’re all dying in masses,

But we peeped through fire-ball wreckage,

Rusted 3rd-world problems to obscene to believe.

We couldn’t perceive a media of glorified killers; crosses blunt ashes.

Of people left bawling as the bugle was calling —

Oh, bring home my man,

He is lost in bombs crashing, the stitching of wounds,

Tumors, fractures, and a machine gun’s destruction;

Stomachs bloated hungering, and cataracts gleaming.

Smoke-ridden eyes granted sight, now horrified —

To realize their home’s a wasteland of dreams.

Oh, bring home my man, he’s lost and he’s broken.

The terrors too much, pain scarred soul-deep,

And his child is weeping, no control is frightening.

Oh, bring home my man from your war of terror ageless,

Be you pagan or Christian, Muslim, or Jewish;

You still war with Aries and feed Jupiter innocent flesh.

Oh, bring home my man, no more cause him anguish,

Not the dreams of a ‘silent night’ lost.

Not another year ridden with gun’s reloading,

Gun’s we’ve packed centuries,

To a place mermaids once swam.

The memories paper-bag brown, curled;

Worn like faded leather; a letter disintegrated.

A story once told,

Where three sisters met,

As poppy red blows in lands long forgotten.

1st world woes, claim to expose,

3rd worlds implode, and no one knows;

Root of the evil, that grows and grows.

So, carry home my man, let his feet not in Opium fields drag.

He’s healed your wounded, your dying;

Now he knows he must leave, lest forever he sleep;

Support his weight, his shoulders slumped —

With night terrors, violent streams of woe.

As the new year comes upon us,

Think not of war’s carnage, let all children —

Of every age in existence,

Live in a land of peace.

Never a gun’s bullets ricocheting;

Never a nightmare, but a life of opportunity;

A day without weeping, words tucked —

In the pocket of a heart that beats, not bleeds.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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11 thoughts on “Poem: Free Verse — “A Land of Peace” #amwritingpoetry

  1. ivor20 December 31, 2018 / 10:30 pm

    Brilliantly penned Mandibelle, and coincidently I’m listening “Stairway To Heaven” by Led Zeppelin, I loved your powerful peace poem, and yes I always feel for the children of war… And here I am just finishing a poem about the children

    That Nightly Sound

    I’m at my desk wondering
    Sitting here deeply pondering
    Whether I’m a strange sort of writer
    And am I, an only loner
    My keyboard is covered in moisture
    A wetness from my many tears
    I cry about my latest plight
    I cry for the world’s hungry, sleeping tonight
    I cry during Xavier’s song, Spirit Bird, like the, Last Post
    I cry for the children, the ones we have lost
    My heart bleeds tears from within
    My heart writes with soul filled ink
    My heart dampen’s with every word I weep
    My heart floods with emotions every time I sleep
    I was wondering
    And I am pondering
    Do other writers, hear that nightly sound
    Hear the pitter-patter of naked feet
    Hear the noise of shuffling feet in their sleep
    Hear their dirtied feet, the millions of poor children, yet to eat

    Liked by 1 person

    • mandibelle16 January 2, 2019 / 8:07 pm

      Wow Ivor. That’s incredibly powerful. You shared many of my thoughts, these little ones, who’ve not the privilege of many children here, even for a meal. The end line is particularly potent, and visual. Thank you for sharing. I hope you published this too! Happy New Year🥂

      Liked by 1 person

    • mandibelle16 January 2, 2019 / 8:02 pm

      Thank you Cindy you as well. I wish for you to travel many more places and have peace too,🥂

      Like

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