it's not really that easy to write poems.Note: Wild Beasts was written from sentences found in the book All Quiet On The Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque.
Fated Children
Turn, my Fated Children,
Watch and mourn for the helpless cries,
Watch the men and women die
Don't let them lie: war is terrible,
It''s not patriotic, it's murder
Weep, my Fated Children
Let the doves fly,
Let this war end
Don't fall, my Fated Children,
Don't let the bad men get you,
Don't let the tunnels collapse,
Stop the dying
Millions of souls rising to Heaven,
As the soldiers battle in Hell
Shattered cries, stabbing pains,
Charging into battle, ripping into shreds
The wounded, the dead,
The corpses, the lead
Sleep, my Fated Children
Wait for the end, the end of mourning,
The end of it all
Rise to Heaven, fly
No Mercy
With an evil smile, he slowly lifts his gun
Squeezing the trigger, as his victims run
Tripping, afraid to die, his victims weep and cry
Remorcilessly, he crushes hopes and dreams,
Shattering lives
The women and children, the elderly too
He sprays lead wildly ripping through
Silent screams, clutching hands
He never underestands
He has no mercy
Never tiring, he keeps on firing
Splattering red all on the floor
He doesn't care; it isn't fair
Ending lives, many hearts he tore
Hearts to love nevermore
Dying, killing, falling, tripping
Too much death, no mercy
Wild Beasts
His face has an expression of calm
He says nothing; he is entirely alone now
He still breathes, his face is wet
Alone
Thin, miserable, dirty
The hours pass quick if a man broods
The bones have not lasted out
Meaningless words, he is not the first
His eyes roll, it can't be helped
The others have turned pale
We have become wild beasts.
