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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=422407" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A March in the Ranks, Hard Prest</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">all fought for a reason<br>the liberators fought, hid<br>the freedom fighters, fought, hid<br>ambushed once in a while lopping off heads <br>that rolled over the sand, grisly blood <br>oozing down our eyes turning <br>our hearts cold as ice our hair <br>raised themselves like armies of<br>soldiers ready for action</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the conflicts rage on in the deserts, <br>in the towns, in the cities a thousand <br>miles away which unsettle the souls likewise<br>a nightmare that has been stealing the light<br>of our days and our nights from days</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the fall of the twin towers in New York<br>has crushed our cherished dreams<br>like a bed of wilted roses wrinkled <br>petals splayed, sprinting listlessly<br>across the continents from america to afghanistan<br>london, arabian peninsula, <br>bali, south thailand, south philippines<br>south asia, everywhere<br>where freedom fighers cry to keep their sacred flame<br>torched with blood, to salvage the rightful place for <br>God, tearing down buildings, setting off bombs<br>shattering bullets into their enemies<br>when is our turn? when is your turn? his turn? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">there too the liberators fight <br>their feet and heart loose<br>over the desert sand blandishing<br>a plathora of first world weapons<br>with the angst of an unwinnable war</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the shootings go on so inexorably<br>we pray for God himself to <br>pull a lid over the furnace of hell<br>so that his grace flows over this <br>fine great world of ours again</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and today the most unlikely thing <br>happened - two shoes shot over <br>a ducking president carrying a <br>message we all wish to hear...<br>stop the war, stop the war<br>pick up your shoes, get out and get lost</div><div style="margin:10px 0">they turn a young handsome reporter<br>who wrote his own headline story<br>a hero across the continents</div><div style="margin:10px 0">what a way to send off an<br>outgoing president who <br>initiated the war which has morphed <br>into a frightful mother of wars</div><div style="margin:10px 0">to the sky the liberators <br>sweats trickling down<br>their eyes and body echo <br>the same resounding line <br>their great poet whitman<br>wrote a hundred years ago<br>a march in the ranks, hard prest</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Tiong+Chunghoo">John Tiong Chunghoo</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=422407" data-title="A March in the Ranks, Hard Prest de John Tiong Chunghoo" data-description="all fought for a reason
the liberators fought, hid
the freedom fighters, fought, hid
ambushed once in a while lopping off heads 
that rolled over the sand, grisly blood 
oozing down our eyes turning 
our hearts cold as ice our hair 
raised themsel..."></div>
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