of pulsing hearts
to bombs and beatings, sticks
in myths, grows, fester into rage,
as sharp as ice
rests dormant and decades
follow decades, explodes in spring
fresh, young soldiers
mold themselves to nations
tie themselves to lies of greatness,
attained by men
in coffins found, medals
pinned to their decaying corpses
into legends —
lore of vindication
a neverending blood-filled tale
Today it’s the 5ht of the 5th, Cinco the Mayo, and therefore we write cinquains with Laura at dVerse.
May 5, 2022
Incredibly sobering, Bjorn … hearts break as this terror continues.
these roll off the tongue so readily – and the message hits home in every stanza
Yes–that is exactly what a war is. So well-written!
Again, the cirlcling nature of the Crapsey crown – and the form works so well with the content of the poem. how do we ever escape from the cycle of violence?
A build up, like a real orchestral build up, and one feels Tchaikovsky’s cannons in the final lines…yes, it is..it is the never ending tale of blood let, of us…
Wow this is just fantastic. Luv the image you teamed up.
Very well said!!!
I like reading this as if it’s about lizards, even if a metaphor—because of what you did with tale/tail and loss in the first line, making me picture the creatures’ mysterious powers of healing and regrowth.
Powerful poetry my friend! As Helen said, quite sobering — and sadly true.
Sharply written piece. Tense with the wounds of reality.
Yes indeed Bjorn. This poem says it all, sadly.
Hi Bjorn, this is dead on (pun??), for the present, before, and the future. Innocent civilians, children and aged, and the young MEN and WOMEN fighting for cause.
“medals pinned to their decaying corpses.”
That is such a visceral image; shudders.
attained by men
in coffins found
WOW. The detailing is at its gruesome-finest. A sad, unending tale.
“reeking into legends”–over and over and over again. When will we ever learn?–never. (K)
The cycle of violence continues as you so starkly state. The cinquain worked perfectly to drive the message home.
And history will repeat itself. The fourth stanza really illustrates the irony of glory.
The hideous cycle of wars reveal our fallen nature…powerful write, Bjorn.
Saddens me every single minute.
A cycle too often repeated.
Sadly, this is our complete truth. I like your choice of using the last word for the next stanza.