The Final Farewell


Soldiers, soldiers, my fellow men,

Why you so blithely sit,

Round the corpses catching fire,

Soaking it’s valiant heat.

Tempt not those circling vultures, 

Feed not those saints in black,

To barter the pride of might,

For the courage we so lack.

Remember, do you, my friends,

The dread as trumpets blare,

When the land is alive in madness,

And the blood is in the air.

Through embers and the ashes,

By the gleam of bones and teeth,

We marched on land and water,

In search of victor’s myth.

Say now, cry not, you brave and bold,

Hold up your head and chin,

The deed was done in battle, 

And in war there is no sin.

Oh god, our father, see how I mock,

Your beloved and righteous creed,

Send down thy prophet early,

We have none left to lead.

O worthy, worthy, men

O brethren of my birth,

How oft have we been blunted,

By truths of this lying earth,

I thus cannot, and never again,

Pick another shield or sword, 

So I can walk this world in search,

Of a blameless, nameless, Lord.

I ask you now, I plead you thus,

To stand now as you stood, 

And find a path more worthy,

In the light of this pyre lit wood.

Go mend your boats, my children new,

Go unfurl your freedoms sail,

And wave long to this horizon,

In a final farewell.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

4 thoughts on “The Final Farewell”

  1. Living a slim 20 minutes north of Charlottesville, this rings a dark bell in me. I have been catching slivers of the Vietnam series on PBS, this week. It is a Ken Burns vehicle, if you are not familiar, though you probably are. Fascinating stuff, and I remember seeing much of it on television, but not understanding anything but the images. Your words are beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. War breeds many horrors, true. And that is what I had tried to portray in the poem. It’s said that an image says a thousand words, and like you too I was shocked to see many brutal images from wars of all eras. It made me question the ethics on which our society is built and the fabric by which it is held together. The concept of peace on the edge of knife made me write this poem. And I really glad that got the gist of it, and shared your feelings about it. Thank you very much.


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