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svcreddy_91
03-16-2008, 02:03 PM
War Machines

The guns roared on the cool, Christmas night.
The shrill screams of men awake me with a nasty panic,
As I camouflage myself in dirt to save my worthless life.
A fire is shot and an eyeball bursts out of a man’s eye socket,
Like a balloon that is burst by a needle.
Dark lumps of heavy blood dirty the Mother Earth, carrying
A strong scent of a bleak tomorrow.
A bloodied leg is dangling hopelessly on the stained ground,
No longer being able to match with its rightful owner.
Its hue reminds one of the vile Satan that seems to be
Dancing to the song of destruction.
I spot a panting man that seems to have escaped
A close encounter with death’s fastened clutches.
His blood shot eyes are burning with fear and agitation,
And his cigarette stained teeth chatter helplessly.
His skull suddenly smashes to pieces, as his brain flies out
Like a canary from a cage.
Hades has added a new member to his kingdom.
I see someone I know, someone familiar.
Is it a friend or a foe I try to distinguish?
It is Jim, my school mate.
He lies peacefully near a heap of rotting bodies
Like a pleased boy who has received a rifle for his Christmas present.
His eyes bore no life in them,
As though they were ensnared by the devil’s glare.
His boots are torn viciously, revealing his empty soiled feet,
Which are covered with scabs of sorrow.
I grab his hand to wake him up, but I’m spitefully
Surprised with a missing thumb.
I throw back his hand in horror, holding my own thumb for relief.
I wait dumbly to recover my train of thought
And hug myself in a vulnerable position.
My thirsty hand is soaked in a layer of a crimson substance,
As I fall into the cool realm of heaven.

What are your opinions? How can I make this poem even better? thanks

PrinceMyshkin
03-16-2008, 02:25 PM
What are your opinions? How can I make this poem even better? thanks

1) Reconcile the tenses. You move back & forth between present and past.

2) Be far more selective in the number of atrocities you list. 1, 2, 3 quickly establish the carnage of the scene - carnage we've encountered in too many other poems: beyond that the mind goes numb and the details do not accumulate toward a final judgment other than that the speaker dies.