A March In The Ranks, Hard-prest
A MARCH in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown;
A route through a heavy wood, with muffled steps in the darkness;
Our army foil'd with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating;
Till after midnight glimmer upon us, the lights of a dim-lighted
building;
We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-lighted
building;
'Tis a large old church at the crossing roads--'tis now an impromptu
hospital;
--Entering but for a minute, I see a sight beyond all the pictures
and poems ever made:
Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving candles and
lamps,
And by one great pitchy torch, stationary, with wild red flame, and
clouds of smoke;
By these, crowds, groups of forms, vaguely I see, on the floor, some
in the pews laid down; 10
At my feet more distinctly, a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of
bleeding to death, (he is shot in the abdomen;)
I staunch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white as a
lily;)
Then before I depart I sweep my eyes o'er the scene, fain to absorb
it all;
Faces, varieties, postures beyond description, most in obscurity,
some of them dead;
Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether,
the odor of blood;
The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms of soldiers--the yard
outside also fill'd;
Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, some in the
death-spasm sweating;
An occasional scream or cry, the doctor's shouted orders or calls;
The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the glint of the
torches;
These I resume as I chant--I see again the forms, I smell the
odor; 20
Then hear outside the orders given, Fall in, my men, Fall in;
But first I bend to the dying lad--his eyes open--a half-smile gives
he me;
Then the eyes close, calmly close, and I speed forth to the darkness,
Resuming, marching, ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks,
The unknown road still marching.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Related quotes
A Single Candle/Death Herself
A single flame lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death
Her hands clasped anrond their souls
The souls of the dead
She feeds of their screams
The screams of the dead
Her legs lay bellow her
Bellow death
Her black gown over her body
The body of death
Her chest rises and falls with her breath
The breath of death
Her cloak drawn over her long flowing jet hair
The face of death
Her eyes unmoved unfeeling
Do you see it?
Do you see the soul of death?
Do you feel it?
Her skin as white as snow as it fades into darkness
The snow of tears
Her cloths as dark as night that swallows the light
The dark we all shall see
Her eyes close as she feels their souls flow
Flow from the dead
She leaves them there to lay in darkness
She steals from the dead
A single candle lights their faces filled with her
Filled with death
They fall into the darkness of her eyes, of her heart
The darkness of death
A single candle shall stay to light their way
Their way through the dark
A single candle holds their past
The pain and trials
A single candle lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death herself
A single candle
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Too Far From Auntie's Gaze
Auntie said
don't go
too far away
with the mutt
I need to know
where you are
and so you
and the mutt
went down
the metal stairway
and off
into the barrack grounds
at Aldershot
keeping close
to the places
that your aunt
could see you from
and you could hear
soldiers marching
on the parade ground
and the sergeants
bellowing their orders
to the marching troops
and you sensed
the cold air
and frost
on the ground
as you walked
and the mutt sniffed
the earth
and you said
come on mutt
let's go for a run
and off you went
and the mutt followed
and overtook you
its tail wagging
its eyes large
and brown
like pools of chocolate
and lucid like mud
and you raced him
as far as you could
then you had to stop
for breath
and the mutt
stopped too
and looked back at you
its tongue hanging
from the corner
of its mouth
and you looked over
to where your aunt lived
and realised
she wouldn't
be able to see you
from where you were
and the dog didn't care
and the air
was chilling
your lungs
and your tongue hung
in the corner
of your little boy mouth
and the soldiers marched
and marched
and you stood watching
bent over
with your hands
on your knees
and big black birds
called out from the trees.
poem by Terry Collett
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Pictures Of You
Pictures of you
Its just pictures of you, through the bedroom door
With that sly little grin, says you want it some more
But theres people around, and they dont look so nice
Tell me why dont they move, this has happened before
This has happened before
Its just pictures of you
In darkness
Pictures of you
Id been sleeping for hours,
When you came to my house
Youd been lost in a crowd, said you had to get out
You were covered with tears and you said you were sad
So you wanted to play
Yes, you wanted to play
Well you touched me and smiled, as you let yourself go
Oh, but something was wrong, cause your touch was so cold
Like youd been in the ground and you asked if you could
Stay
And I said no!
Its just pictures of you
In darkness
(pictures of you)
In that lovely white dress, oh your skin was so white
With the moon in your eyes, on that cold winter night
When your lips were so soft, that I though they would
Melt,
And the sound of your breath and the way that you felt
And I said yes
And I said yes
Its just pictures of you with a knife in your hand
With a rose in your teeth lying nude in the sand
Its just pictures of you, standing high on a cliff
With the wind in your hair, and a smile on your lips
And your eyes were so wild, when you started to laugh
Blending in with the wind, sounded just like a scream
Why do pictures of you
Come to me when I dream
In darkness
Pictures of you
Pictures of you
Pictures of you
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Lights' Lies
Something, anything, anywhere
I’m scared, shut off, closed in
In a darkness to heavy to bear
That is where I will sing
It is a song of sadness
Loneliness but also braveness
In this dead light my fear I must suppress
I’ve my life, my hope and soon I shall impress
A star I see so far away
Is it my hope, my lights first sign?
Will it keep this darkness at bay
Will it show the way, will it shine?
Eyes that show a soul
Voice that melts this cold
A life to fill this black hole
A presence that cannot be sold
All songs must end
The sun will always rise
Even if pain is what darkness will send
Never fall for the dead lights lies
poem by Rebecca Pepper
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When The Darkest Darkness Fall Over Me
When the darkest darkness fall over me,
let me still look at the lights around me
and when the night full of darkness comes, let me remember You
let my eyes go to Your beacons, Your stars, see how Your miracles look
and when painful moments feel as if they can last forever,
let me then think about how You sweated blood,
about that dark and painful hour
when in Gethsemane You had to suffer for me, let me then think of it.
When this life of mine comes to an end,
when I stand a as a mere man before Your countenance,
then make me free for everything iniquity in me,
place my life in balance with your blood
and when death comes to take me,
then decide over my lot as Your darling child.
poem by Gert Strydom
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At The High Lodge.
Auntie played the accordion
While others sang Goodnight
Irene in a discordant chorus
And the gas lamps had been lit
And you sat there amidst it all
Remembering the sound of crickets
On the way up to the high lodge
In the evening darkness with only
Uncle’s torch and the glow-worms
To cut through the blanket sky
Of black and London a long way
Off now and the sound of traffic
And bright lights and the smell
Of coal dust and fumes and sitting
There watching Auntie play and sing
And her fingers moving over the
Keyboard and the sense of tiredness
And the countryside smell entering
Into you and dreams of Jolly Rogers
And cowboy shootouts waiting for
You in the upstairs bedroom with its
Garden spiders in corners and darkness
After Uncle’s lamp went out and you
Imaging Mother in some far off train
Station still waving to you and London
Smells and lights hanging there about.
poem by Terry Collett
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At The Hospital Bed
even when the eyes
finally close
the room is still lighted
another set of eyes
still look
at everything here
a bed some planks of wood
a machine
another set of eyes
wake up
floating in the air
with the smoke
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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War Girls
'There's the girl who clips your ticket for the train,
And the girl who speeds the lift from floor to floor,
There's the girl who does a milk-round in the rain,
And the girl who calls for orders at your door.
Strong, sensible, and fit,
They're out to show their grit,
And tackle jobs with energy and knack.
No longer caged and penned up,
They're going to keep their end up
'Til the khaki soldier boys come marching back.
There's the motor girl who drives a heavy van,
There's the butcher girl who brings your joint of meat,
There's the girl who calls 'All fares please!' like a man,
And the girl who whistles taxi's up the street.
Beneath each uniform
Beats a heart that's soft and warm,
Though of canny mother-wit they show no lack;
But a solemn statement this is,
They've no time for love and kisses
Till the khaki soldier boys come marching back.
poem by Jessie Pope
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A Solstice Dance
Drums are pulsing in echoes of darkness
When the sun sinks low and the music plays
The hillsides dotted with lighted bonfires
And figures that leap around the blaze
I can see in the shimmering darkness
My brethren dance into ecstasy
Flames are bounding higher and higher
With my pagan kind surrounding me
Sky-clad sisters with candles and lanterns
Our voices rising into the night
A thousand bodies and souls united
When we are blessed with the second sight
I can see in the glimmering darkness
My sisters dance into ecstasy
Drums are beating louder and louder
As shadows of the old year surround me
The wind is filled with a thousand voices
I touch the sky and I close my eyes
The air sparkles with old English magic
As we dance until the next sunrise
I can hear the stars cry out to us
Shivering in their black cloak of night
Fires warming the souls that wander
Into the rest of eternal night
Shadows of figures upon the hillside
Moving through the Solstice dance
The soldiers watch with envious gazes
As we waltz into Hecate’s trance
I can see the lights in the distance
Fireflies flickering to the sound
Of drums that echo our racing heartbeats
And barefoot sisters upon the ground
Come and dance on the rolling hillside
On this night of Pagan feasts
Come to us where the night is clear
Where all our souls can be released
poem by Rebecca Kate Summers
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Dream Of The Unknown
I dream of mostly nothing,
A deep black emptiness in space of infinate time.
But there is no time, there is nothing.
I see nothing, I touch nothing.
Am I even here? Do I exist? Where am I?
I'm not anywhere, just darkness all around.
I don't hear anything at all. I don't smell anything.
What kind of dream is this? This dream of the unknown.
It is not a dream. I'm not here, I am nothing.
Dreams are filled with things beyond imagination,
Filled with good things and bad things, but not this.
I am not happy nor am I sad...But I am scared.
Why am I scared? There is nothing here.
I am trembling but I don't feel a thing.
I'm not here, I am nothing just like this darkness.
But I am in fear in this dream of the unknown.
If it's a dream at all. Am I dead? Is that my fear?
If I'm dead, where is the afterlife? Were they right?
I see nothing, I feel nothing, I am nothing.
Fear is the only thing I know in this dream.
But why? If nothing is wrong, why is everything dark?
Why can't I dream? Why am I nothing with nothing around?
No time, no feeling, no sense. Just nothing.
Lost in this forsaken world, this dream of the unknown.
Suddenly, I'm crying. I feel tears stream down my face.
I feel my heart racing. I hear myself choke back cries.
But everything is still dark, everything is still nothing.
I don't understand. What is happening to me?
My eyes open, I'm in my bed. Face buried in my pillow.
I am still crying, I am still scared...I don't know why.
poem by Adam McKim
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The Dresser
AN old man bending, I come, among new faces,
Years looking backward, resuming, in answer to children,
Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens that love me;
Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these
chances,
Of unsurpass'd heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally
brave;)
Now be witness again--paint the mightiest armies of earth;
Of those armies so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to tell us?
What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,
Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous, what deepest
remains?
O maidens and young men I love, and that love me, 10
What you ask of my days, those the strangest and sudden your talking
recalls;
Soldier alert I arrive, after a long march, cover'd with sweat and
dust;
In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the
rush of successful charge;
Enter the captur'd works.... yet lo! like a swift-running river, they
fade;
Pass and are gone, they fade--I dwell not on soldiers' perils or
soldiers' joys;
(Both I remember well--many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was
content.)
But in silence, in dreams' projections,
While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,
So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the
sand,
In nature's reverie sad, with hinged knees returning, I enter the
doors--(while for you up there, 20
Whoever you are, follow me without noise, and be of strong heart.)
Bearing the bandages, water and sponge,
Straight and swift to my wounded I go,
Where they lie on the ground, after the battle brought in;
Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground;
Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof'd hospital;
To the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, I return;
To each and all, one after another, I draw near--not one do I miss;
An attendant follows, holding a tray--he carries a refuse pail,
Soon to be fill'd with clotted rags and blood, emptied and fill'd
again. 30
I onward go, I stop,
With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds;
I am firm with each--the pangs are sharp, yet unavoidable;
One turns to me his appealing eyes--(poor boy! I never knew you,
Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that
would save you.)
On, on I go!--(open doors of time! open hospital doors!)
The crush'd head I dress, (poor crazed hand, tear not the bandage
away;)
The neck of the cavalry-man, with the bullet through and through, I
examine;
Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life
struggles hard;
(Come, sweet death! be persuaded, O beautiful death! 40
In mercy come quickly.)
From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,
I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and
blood;
Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curv'd neck, and side-
falling head;
His eyes are closed, his face is pale, (he dares not look on the
bloody stump,
And has not yet look'd on it.)
I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep;
But a day or two more--for see, the frame all wasted already, and
sinking,
And the yellow-blue countenance see.
I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet wound, 50
Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so
offensive,
While the attendant stands behind aside me, holding the tray and
pail.
I am faithful, I do not give out;
The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,
These and more I dress with impassive hand--(yet deep in my breast a
fire, a burning flame.)
Thus in silence, in dreams' projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;
The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night--some are so young;
Some suffer so much--I recall the experience sweet and sad; 60
(Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and
rested,
Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Salvation Of Her
my hearts like an open book under star light up on the heavens in the deepest darkest part of my psyche time ticks away tick tock tick tock my heart beats and it races pacing around i am in the halls of an eternity to here and there and anywhere in what is somewhere to there or here my eyes grow weary tired i am but keep marching forward and onward to her to u always forever like a soldier orders i will follow to be at your side at the gates of hell fallen from the heavens eternal my soul gets torn and shredded into a million pieces but must remain focuses at the task at hand until completion a deletion of such win and lose or victory of many a defeat defeat i wont accept class of such of more and wonder the reflection of the mirror of the one looking back at me telling me to be better to be more then no one and nothing i am try try harder know i must of my path the path to salvation or a path of desolation to the light and out of darkness no more hell just towards her so i can hear her speak hear her heart beat see that smile it makes my soul shine and be happy to think of her to think of you
poem by Dorian Suchelle
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The Waiting Watchers
They shall come in the black weathers
From the heart of the dead embers,
Walking one and two over the hill.
And they shall be with you, never farther
Than your bedside.
At their will
The smell of putrefaction lingers
And floor is carpetted with rotting hair;
Or sheets are torn to shreds
By the beaks of dead dry birds
And the red blood clots in your cup.
Put up your swords!
What steel can cut the throat of next year's dream,
What tongue is tunes to speak last night's quick scream?
Go alone by darkness;
Burn the clippings of your nail;
Donate a thousand candles.
But do as you will,
When sun is blind and lamps are lit once more,
Two and one, they shall be standing
At your door
poem by Henry Treece
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The Wound Dresser
1
AN old man bending, I come, among new faces,
Years looking backward, resuming, in answer to children,
Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens that love me;
(Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war,
but soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead
Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances,
Of unsurpass’d heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave
Now be witness again—paint the mightiest armies of earth;
Of those armies so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to tell us?
What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,
Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous, what deepest remains?
2
O maidens and young men I love, and that love me,
What you ask of my days, those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls;
Soldier alert I arrive, after a long march, cover’d with sweat and dust;
In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of successful charge;
Enter the captur’d works.... yet lo! like a swift-running river, they fade;
Pass and are gone, they fade—I dwell not on soldiers’ perils or soldiers’ joys;
(Both I remember well—many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was content.)
But in silence, in dreams’ projections,
While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,
So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand,
With hinged knees returning, I enter the doors—(while for you up there,
Whoever you are, follow me without noise, and be of strong heart.)
3
Bearing the bandages, water and sponge,
Straight and swift to my wounded I go,
Where they lie on the ground, after the battle brought in;
Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground;
Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof’d hospital;
To the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, I return;
To each and all, one after another, I draw near—not one do I miss;
An attendant follows, holding a tray—he carries a refuse pail,
Soon to be fill’d with clotted rags and blood, emptied and fill’d again.
I onward go, I stop,
With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds;
I am firm with each—the pangs are sharp, yet unavoidable;
One turns to me his appealing eyes—(poor boy! I never knew you,
Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.)
On, on I go!—(open doors of time! open hospital doors!)
The crush’d head I dress, (poor crazed hand, tear not the bandage away
The neck of the cavalry-man, with the bullet through and through, I examine;
Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles hard;
(Come, sweet death! be persuaded, O beautiful death!
In mercy come quickly.)
From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,
I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood;
Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curv’d neck, and side-falling head;
His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody stump,
And has not yet look’d on it.
I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep;
But a day or two more—for see, the frame all wasted already, and sinking,
And the yellow-blue countenance see.
I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet wound,
Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive,
While the attendant stands behind aside me, holding the tray and pail.
I am faithful, I do not give out;
The fractur’d thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,
These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame.)
4
Thus in silence, in dreams’ projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;
The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night—some are so young;
Some suffer so much—I recall the experience sweet and sad;
(Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested,
Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Toy Band
A Song of the Great Retreat
Dreary lay the long road, dreary lay the town,
Lights out and never a glint o' moon:
Weary lay the stragglers, half a thousand down,
Sad sighed the weary big Dragoon.
"Oh! if I'd a drum here to make them take the road again,
Oh! if I'd a fife to wheedle, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!
"Hey, but here's a toy shop, here's a drum for me,
Penny whistles too to play the tune!
Half a thousand dead men soon shall hear and see
We're a band!" said the weary big Dragoon.
Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake and take the road again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!"
Cheerly goes the dark road, cheerly goes the night,
Cheerly goes the blood to keep the beat;
Half a thousand dead men marching on to fight
With a little penny drum to lift their feet.
Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake, and take the raod again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!
As long as there's an Englishman to ask a tale of me,
As long as I can tell the tale aright,
We'll not forget the penny whistle's wheedle-deedle-dee
And the big Dragoon a-beating down the night,
Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake and take the road again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife, and drum!
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Little Green Men
Little Green Men
I lay in the sand gazing at the stars through glassy eyes
Sound has been taken, stolen away, pain is no more
As I start to fade into a sea of unknown darkness
My eyes finally close
I am moving, though I know not how, fear has overcome me
Eyes still shut I dare not open
This world I’m in makes no since for I am here
But have not taken a single breath
Peaceful melody the sun is shining
I hear two little boys one laughing one crying
Eyelids creep open, one than another
Two little boys surrounded by little green men
Some held pistols and others had rifles
I know these boys! The one laughing is me
My little green men were victorious that day
They fought the evil army of my brother John K.
He cries, I laugh and say
War is for the strong and keen of heart
You are dead, all of your men are Dead, Dead, Dead
I don’t want to die big brother why must I die
This game of War is not fair I don’t wanna Die.
Gasping and wheezing, blood in my eyes
I lay in the sand gazing at the sky
Pain has returned, and I hear every scream.
Off in the distance a voice i know well yells out
I don’t want to die big brother why must I die!
Why, Why, Why big brother, why must I die!
I brought him to war, a game all I thought
Little green men danced in my head
Fun and adventure was all that I sought
Now I lay here alone, my men their all dead
War is for the strong and keen of heart
I lay and laugh for what else to do
Cry then die, littlle brother ill see you soon
Little green men danced in my mind
I love you Little Brother, we both lost this time
poem by Brian Hayden
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Close Your Eyes
I am walking the streets at night,
bathing myself in the moonlight,
watching others go about their business,
so many people living in the darkness,
but this is not a dark and colourless land,
for you must try and understand,
that here your thoughts are divine,
as every moment is frozen in time.
Close your eyes, forget your name,
for in darkness we’re all the same.
Close your eyes, then lose yourself,
for you’re the same as anyone else.
Close your eyes, release your past,
for the future is the one and only task.
Close your eyes, follow your soul,
as it will make you complete and whole.
I am lying awake in my bed,
thinking about what people have said,
words spoken in times of madness,
and held in anger and bitterness,
looking out of my bedroom window,
in to the darkness and the shadow,
seeing the mysterious world outside,
where normal people do not hide.
Close your eyes, untangle your heart,
so your emotions can just fall apart.
Close your eyes, lay yourself bare,
find the beauty to make everyone stare.
Close your eyes, fight your fear,
for everyone is safe in here.
Close your eyes, dream your reality,
then you’ll know what you could be.
poem by Dale Mullock
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The Eyes Of Death
I have stared into the eyes of death with my own
It is hard to see death eye to eye, face to face
Many times death leaves a cold darkness
Other times death leaves a bright light
There are many who may welcome death
They are ready to meet their maker face to face
Others attempt death by their own hand
For whatever reason I can see the torment in their eyes
I have stared into the eyes od death only to see darkness
It has been my own death that I have seen
Many times by my own hand
Others by the hand of others I have seen my death in their eyes
Whatever death is my fate let me face it
Eye to eye as I have seen others no regrets
Even though I would be dead
Let others see that I have made peace with my maker and others
poem by Robin Conley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seventy Cities As Love Brings The Fall
He wants the world
Screams everything
Follows in love
Love brings the fall
She is a country
Feel for life
Follows in love
Love brings the fall
First tear forms in the right eye
This is the eye thats crying first
First tear forms in the right eye
This is the eye thats crying first
Going somewhere
Getting someplace
Going somewhere
Follows in love
Love brings the fall
Going somewhere
Getting someplace
Going somewhere
Follows in love
Love brings the fall
Going somewhere
Getting someplace
Going somewhere
Follows in love
Cities heavy
Moving breathing
Follows in love
Love brings the fall
The need to draw blood somehow
Follows in love
Love brings the fall
Breath is in
Breath is out
Im not seeing anything
I see too much
When the otherside of midnight calls
Remind me Im glad to be here
First tear forms in the right eye
This is the eye thats crying first
In seventy cities
In seventy cities
Oh no oh no oh no no no
Here it comes here it comes
Here it comes
Oh no
Lyrics : j kerr music : simple minds (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fall In, My Men, Fall In
The short hour's halt is ended,
The red gone from the west,
The broken wheel is mended,
And the dead men laid to rest.
Three days have we retreated
The brave old Curse-and-Grin –
Outnumbered and defeated –
Fall in, my men, fall in.
Poor weary, hungry sinners,
Past caring and past fear,
The camp-fires of the winners
Are gleaming in the rear.
Each day their front advances,
Each day the same old din,
But freedom holds the chances –
Fall in, my men, fall in.
Despair's cold fingers searches
The sky is black ahead,
We leave in barns and churches
Our wounded and our dead.
Through cold and rain and darkness
And mire that clogs like sin,
In failure in its starkness –
Fall in, my men, fall in.
We go and know not whither,
Nor see the tracks we go –
A horseman gaunt shall tell us,
A rain-veiled light shall show.
By wood and swamp and mountain,
The long dark hours begin –
Before our fresh wounds stiffen –
Fall in, my men, fall in.
With old wounds dully aching –
Fall in, my men, fall in –
See yonder starlight breaking
Through rifts where storm clouds thin!
See yonder clear sky arching
The distant range upon?
I'll plan while we are marching –
Move on, my men - march on!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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