A Private War - A Poem by Stewart Storrar



poetry by scottish poet stewart storrar




To feel the ashes of what once was,
Rise up and char your skin,
And feel the acrid scent of defeat,
Choke your weary soul,
It is but a blessing,
And a curse,
To stand tall above the graves of so many,
And shrink before the graves of many more.

Oh, to feel the scourge of battle,
Soak your heart in blood,
And feel the bonds of unity,
Bind your being to the dirt,
It is but a gift,
And a burden,
To claw your path from death's door,
From which many never return.

And you still stand before it,
Blinded by its terrible awe,
Deafened by its harrowing screams,
Guided to never again suffer,
Through the gates of hell on Earth.

War never changes,
Nor the minds of men driving it.


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