Tears Of Blood
On every battlefield,
the ground is stained with tears of blood.
The cruelty of war holds no bounds.
Men and boys fight together
and against each other.
Theirs deaths are just numbers
on someone’s statistics chart.
Their names are quickly forgotten
except by their loved ones.
Their bodies rot where they fell
in the no man’s land on a battlefield.
No one can make sense of the useless slaughter
by a faceless enemy across the invisible lines.
Lines drawn in the lunacy of a moment
for which hundreds will die for.
The tears of blood will fall like raindrops
from machinegun fire,
and so the crazy war goes on.
Each side losing brave men
to save some politicians face.
There is no glory in death
and wasting tears of blood on some foreign land,
just a waste of good lives.
When will it ever end?
22-23 May 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A War To End All Wars, But Wasn’t
They not only fought the enemy,
but fought the elements as well.
They fought for their country
in lands far from home.
They fought rain, mud and the enemy
in trenches stained with blood
from those who had fallen there before.
They fought on and on
while the Generals watched
the slaughter from far away.
For their mistakes men died
by the score across the battlefield.
Their blood would stained the land
then and forever more.
Then came the gas
like a creeping mist across the battlefield
that silenced all in its wake.
It made no distinction to young or old,
just poisoned all it touched.
Their contorted bodies rotted where they fell.
They said this was a war to end all wars, but it wasn’t.
Almost twenty years later
men from different countries gathered to fight another war
and again in the trenches men fell.
The mechanics had changed;
machines became more prevalent across the battlefield,
still men died for small victories in the tide of war.
3 July 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paschendale
In a foreign field he lay
lonely soldier unknown grave
on his dying words he prays
tell the world of Paschendale
Relive all that he's been through
last communion of his soul
rust your bullets with his tears
let me tell you 'bout his years
Laying low in a blood filled trench
killing time 'til my very own death
on my face I can feel the falling rain
never see my friends again
in the smoke, in the mud and lead
smell of fear and feeling of dread
soon be time to go over the wall
rapid fire and the end of us all
Whistles, shouts and more gun fire
lifeless bodies hang on barbwire
battlefield nothing but a bloody tomb
be reunited with my dead friends soon
many soldiers eighteen years
drown in mud, no more tears
surely a war no one can win
killing time about to begin
Home, far away. From the war, a chance to live again
Home, far away. But the war, no chance to live again
The bodies of ours and our foes
the sea of death it overflows
in no man's land God only knows
into jaws of death we go...
Crucified as if on a cross
allied troops, they mourn their loss
German war propaganda machine
such before has never been seen
swear I heard the angels cry
pray to God no more may die
so that people know the truth
tell the tale of Paschendale
Cruelty has a human heart
everyman does play his part
terror of the men we kill
the human heart is hungry still
I stand my ground for the very last time
gun is ready as I stand in line
nervous wait for the whistle to blow
rush of blood and over we go...
Blood is falling like the rain
its crimson cloak unveils again
the sound of guns can't hide their shame
and so we die in Paschendale
Dodging shrapnel and barbwire
running straight at cannon fire
running blind as I hold my breath
say a prayer symphony of death
as we charge the enemy lines
a burst of fire and we go down
I choke a cry but no one hears
feel the blood go down my throat
Home, far away. From the war, a chance to live again
Home, far away. But the war, no chance to live again
Home, far away. From the war, a chance to live again
Home, far away. But the war, no chance to live again
See my spirit on the wind
across the lines beyond the hill
friend and foe will meet again
those who died at Paschendale
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red Tears
The blood screams
for you to stop,
it trickles down,
then it drops.
The blood stained tears
don't make a sound
even as they hit the ground.....
The blood stained tears
they fall and fall,
until I am
nothing at all
poem by Faith Franklin
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The Sands Of Time
From the beginning of this own world,
man has shed a million tears.
Tears for the pain they've had
in their lives and for all the
wasted years.
But the saddest tears that
ever fell, fell not from
just any man's eyes. But
they were shed by my Savior
and they stained The Sands Of Time.
And as the Father looked upon His
Son, He had to turn His face away.
And as Jesus hung upon that cross,
He gave His all for us that day.
And as the tears ran down His face,
as He cried, mixed with the blood
that flowed from His side. Oh what
a sacrifice of love and it stained
The Sands Of Time.
Oh yes it stained The Sands Of Time.
It stained The Sands Of Time.
The blood that was shed for a lost
and dying world, oh yes it stained
The Sands Of Time, of time.
song performed by by LeAnn Rimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paschandale
(SmithHarris)
In a foreign field he lay
Lonely soldier, unknown grave
On his dying words he prays
Tell the world of Paschendale
Relive all that he's been through
Last communion of his soul
Rust your bullets with his tears
Let me tell you 'bout his years
Laying low in a blood filled trench
Kill tim 'til my very own death
On my face I can feel the falling rain
Never see my friends again
In the smoke, in the mud and lead
Smell the fear and the feeling of dread
Soon be time to go over the wall
Rapid fire and the end of us all
Whistles, shouts and more gun fire
Lifeless bodies hang on barbed wire
Battlefield nothing but a bloody tomb
Be reunited with my dead friends soon
Many soldiers eighteen years
Drown in mud, no more tears
Surely a war no-one can win
Killing time about to begin
Home, far away
From the war, a chance to live again
Home, far away
But the war, no chance to live again
The bodies of ours and our foes
The sea of death it overflows
In no man's land, God only knows
Into jaws of death we go
Crucified as if on a cross
Allied troops they mourn their loss
German war propaganda machine
Such before has never been seen
Swear I heard the angels cry
Pray to god no more may die
So that people know the truth
Tell the tale of Paschendale
Cruelty has a human heart
Every man does play his part
Terror of the men we kill
The human heart is hungry still
I stand my ground for the very last time
Gun is ready as I stand in line
Nervous wait for the whistle to blow
Rush of blood and over we go
Blood is falling like the rain
Its crimso
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Across The Battlefield
Hear the cannons roar
across the battlefield
with its pits of pain
where the dead and dying lay.
In the no man’s land
that separates friend from foe.
Hear the mournful sounds
of weeping flesh
entangled within the baptism of death.
Across the battlefield
where there are fleeting ghosts
of those who fell on another day.
One day the guns may fall silent
and flowers will once again dance
with an evening breeze.
Instead of the blood of innocence
milking the no man’s ground.
Birds may again sing one day
replacing the agony of young men
dying before their time.
In twenty, fifty or a hundred years
they will be remembered
for the sacrifice they gave,
condemning themselves to an early grave.
Maybe when that day comes
no more cannons will again roar
across the battlefield
with its pits of pain.
19 May 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remember
I hear the sound of distant guns,
as good lives march away,
to foreign lands to fight and die,
to preserve the rights of freedom,
for those in that distant land,
can have the right to live,
and not under a tyrant’s hand.
They go not as heroes for glory,
but to help innocent souls,
so they can sleep securely at night.
However, the battlefield where they are,
hold allsorts of dangers there,
some will never return safely home.
Their souls will look over
the battlefield where they fell,
possibly wondering at
the folly of it all.
Therefore, the next time you look at,
a monument with columns of names,
remember that their sacrifice
was made not for one, but for all.
poem by David Harris
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4 (War)
The big boys shouted, 'Man your arms! ! '
for their silly little game, ,
and the children ran to the battlefield,
to satisfy their hunger..
of blood
of money
of fame
the children shoots, the children jumps
a complete chaos created by the boys and being played by little childrens..
one by one, the children fell
fell for honor
fell for duty
fell for nothing
and finally the big boys found a new toy
while millions of childrens have gone,
they smiled and prepared the Giant Mushroom
they laughed as they shout, 'Fire in the hole! '
a whistle was heard
a whistle of death
a whistle of sorrow
and it grows, The Mushroom grew as tall as the skies
bodies melted
towns destroyed
another million children died for nothing
and the big boys got all their blood money and fame
and all good children go to heaven
poem by Aldamayo Panjaitan
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Blood stained top
My blood stained top lies on the floor.
Coved in crimson red.
From the bursting seems of my skin.
The blood did pour.
Going all over my top.
As the blood seeps in to my top.
It has made it blood stained.
Like blood tears.
My life remains in tatters.
Like my top I cut to bits.
My skin is sliced to ribbons.
And the blood is oozing,
down my top
Making it blood stained
See the top in the morning.
A memento of the night before.
It won't stop me.
For I'll have to do it again
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Blood Stained
Atrocities
Made every day
Religiously
Their sins
They hide
Can never disguise
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
They wage their wars
Such profiteers
Will nail us all
Their crimes
Concealed
Despicably reveal
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained lies
They fire at will
Intent to kill
They have no conscience
They have no conscience
Ethnic cleansing nothing more!
Blood of nations blood of war
Turn blind eyes
From all your crimes
You bare our souls
Show no remorse
You cannot wash
The bloodstains off
They turn their backs
While others
Commit grisly acts
Were scared
For life
By politicians greedy
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained crimes
Blood stained lands
Blood stained minds
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
And while such predators
Stalk this earth
Disguised as saints
They kill our faith
Obsessed by greed
Lying through their teeth
They cannot wash
The blood stains off
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Killers All?
Now bugle boy what do you blow
Your trumpet pressed to your dead lips
I sound recall to let them know
this is the end of their hardships
They came as boys but died like men
From factories farms and mean back streets
They will not see their homes again
The brave young men whom death defeats.
They answered to their country’s call
And donned their Khaki battle dress
And shipped to France where they would fall
by thousands in the wilderness.
Created by the shot and shell
turning the battlefield to mud.
Which drowned young soldiers where they fell
and drenched the earth with their hearts blood.
Now poppies blow in Flanders fields’
The soil enriched by dead men bones
which has increased the harvest yields.
The poppies act as their headstones.
So many died and were not found
their fate unknown, No man could say
Their bodies melded with the ground
but we remember still to day.
The slaughter and the sacrifice
The useless waste of human lives.
They were prepared to pay the price.
Though a small band of them survives.
Each passing year their numbers fall
Old age more sure than shot and shell.
Soon there will be none at all
who endured that living hell.
The war to end all wars they said
You will be home by Christmas tide
Instead of that most would be dead.
Involuntary suicide.
We honour those who bravely died
a generation of young men.
The best of breed on either side.
But still we go to war again.
The world has never been at peace
since the war to end all wars.
I don’t believe that wars will cease
as long as there are warriors.
Who think they can enforce their will
on other men by force of arms.
It seems that killing is a skill
Which can seduce men with its charms.
16-May-08
http: //blog.myspace.com./poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Bloody Red Tears
Tears of blood
Oh, bloody red tears
They fall on my pillow
And it soaks in blood, red and liquefied
They fall to the floor bellow
And once dried...
It's covered in blood, brown and hardened
Oh, bloody red tears
They're the result of what no-one can mend
All my hurt that built up over the years
Bloody red tears
They're so beautiful to me
They quench my thirst nobody knows of or hears
Only one thirst could that be
The thirst to see blood and pain
Oh, it's so good to my eyes
But, my hurt, I also have a thirst to drain
All those lies!
They cause some of my bloody red tears
They cause my hardened heart, even when someone dies
Oh, bloddy red tears
They're so good to me
And have been all these years
poem by Amy Parkinson
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The wounded Devil
refresh the hour of thirst, the broken
promise remind the heart that fall, where
tears and droplets of water flown out in
goodness scatters in the ground
pick a little bit, heal the broken saddle
of mercy, the tie is broken and the loser
shout for joy, remember the blind can see
and the mute can talk
look and dig the log in your eyes, the
mountain echo and there echo lauds in
every land, yet the pen and the arrogant
ring always in the bell, for nothing left in
the heart than a chaos refrain
mark up the cry the tears watches
the dog to bite until the blood forgives,
the clouds awaits your return for even the
devil face pullout its tears
between lines the devil lives in me...
poem by Antonio Liao
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Unassailable Fidelity!
The horse never slept
Nor it lay on ground
His mind was battling
With the songs of swords
The challenges of the riders
The splash of blood
The pool of blood
The horse kicked
The horse of the enemy
Eager to cut the throat
Of his master on him
The horse trampled on
The dead on the battlefield
To take his master to safety
When the hissing sound of sword
Lashed at him like a storm.
The horse learnt the rule
The rule of sword
The rule of battlefield
The justice of killing
And the destiny of killed!
His master on him swing
With the sword socked with blood
Of the enemy cavalry
And enemy animal carriers
And moved fast to fix
The mast and flag
At the fort his master seized.
As the thunder and lightening
Deafened and blinded
The horse lost a leg
And the master had the wound
Gushing blood with all force
The horse leapt as a wind
And crossed the river
And fell on the river bed
And his master took his head
To put on his lap
To see the flash of life
Taking wings through eyes!
The horse had the satiety
Of saving his master
And serving him to keep alive!
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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Postmortem
Funeral held for the depression of man
Holds the key to his own death
Entering a tomb of a corpse yet conceived
Tighten the tourniquet around your neck
Sifting away the debris of hated life
Cold touch of death begins to chill your spine
Seeking life beyond your perishment
Repeating words echoing through your mind
Chanting lines of blind witchery
To save yourself from extinction
Wanting to die is your reason to live
New life born from the oppressed
Taste your blood as it trickles through the air
Another casualty beyond the shadows you fall
Losing ground
song performed by by Slayer from Reign In Blood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Battlefield
(paul carrack/nick lowe)
I live on a battlefield
Surrounding by the ruins of a love we built
And them destroyed between us
The smoke has cleared
As I stumble through the rubble
Im dazed, seeing double
And Im truly mystified
My new home is a shell-hole filled
With tears and muddy water
And bits of broken heart
All around, there is desolation
Scenes of devestation
Of a love been torn apart
I live on a battlefield
Though one where not one
Single drop of blood has spilled
Is no less horryfying
Sweet memories
Of a bygone situation
Lie shattered, torn and battered
And scattered all around
My new home is a shell-hole filled
With tears and muddy water
And bits of broken heart
All around, there is desolation
Scenes of devestation
Of a love been torn apart
Everything that can, has gone wrong
Its gonna take spine to carry on
Like a drownin woman coming up for air
Im looking for another survivor
I cant see one anywhere
My new home is a shell-hole filled
With tears and muddy water
And bits of broken heart
All around, there is desolation
Scenes of devestation
Of a love been torn apart
I live on a battlefield, hey
I live on a battlefield, hey
Cant go on, baby
Tears and muddy water
Scattered all around me, babe
I live on a battlefield
I live on a battlefield
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No More Tears to Shed!
On her sombre face,
tears were not dripping down.
But her sad words and tales
made us shed tears.
Neither she solicits money
nor borrows even a tiny.
She had got two brave sons
but either of the two doesn't live.
For giving solace
her husband is also no more.
What of her boys died
was what that killed her man too.
If they were dead
fighting on the borders,
she would be walking erect
in the midst of her kin.
But all of them laid on the fields
where they ploughed and dug.
Only one snake has wiped out
her warriors one by one
in a span of three years.
Whom to feed, she must grow
crops in that sinful land?
But she clears weeds daily.
All the three were buried
in that tears-stained land
From dawn to dusk she is there
clearing weeds and lying beside
the idols, murmuring, 'There is no God'.
The sea has drawn the waters inward.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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And The Heavens Cried(Trail of Tears)
You could see the clouds
rolling across the sky
as the day started to rain
teardrops of blood across the land
lost in their visions of doubt
buried in their pain
white man had all the say
we were left to taciturn
as we watched everything burn
and the heavens cried
on the trail of tears
On some beaten shore
we watched the ships come in
one by one, our land wore thin
we could just watch with closed eyes
as the promises made were just lies
they said you don't belong here anymore
behind their mask, they wore a disguise
and the heavens cried
on the trail of tears
Blood spilled on our sacred ground
leaving a unwanted stain
where mighty warriors once made a stand
we never could walk hand in hand
when they lived by so much greed
we watched our people fall
thousands must bleed
still all we could do is try
and the heavens cried
on the trail of tears
Guided by the spirit wind
we held on to our pride
something they could'nt take away
as so many died
through our darkest years
and the heavens cried
on the trail of tears
(spiritwind-2009)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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Rain Tears
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Melding in torrential fears:
Chill of cloud; saddened eye-
In either way, a latent cry.
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Married under sceptic jeers:
‘They'll never last.' Methinks not true, for
Either way, forever blue.
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Simple love with lacy cares,
Their intercourse will ne'er refrain
From rain and tears and tears and rain.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soldiers Of The Kargil War
You trek through the snow-clad vales with guns,
knowing well you march ahead into traps of death,
forgetting yourselves, your kith and kin,
to face the fierce foes religion-eaten
and kill them and be killed or lynched.
You bury the corpse of those fanatics
doing the rites their parents need to do,
as you are from a humane race.
But when we receive your flag-draped coffins,
seeing your mangled bodies
we vent our spleen in flowing tears.
The Tololing peak and the Tiger Hill
speak volumes of your valiant deeds.
But not even a bit of land we have
will ope its lips of our cowardly life.
The wealth we heaped and the life we reaped
will go to waste as the wheel turns..
Our morbid blood is not fit to spill
even on the dells around our hamlets.
The blood you shed on harsh terrains
flows through the land of Maha Rana
and the marvellous warrior Shivaji
and give harvests of sacrificial grains
and make our children fell and brave.
Let the books of History be filled
with the thrills of your facing bullets.
We’re fed up with the tales of cruel looters.
The future rulers of our land are your kids.
Those hurt in wars will sit in offices,
and those unhurt will man the police stations
and in schools you will inspire the young
to roam around the hills where our soldiers fell.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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