Foy

From on high –
a raindrop falls to earth.
through storm and – wicked chill.
An eagle soars –
and sees it charge –
and it gives chase –to try and steal –

It gathers pace –
it gathers worth –
it weaves and stares upon the ground.
It falls adrift a young, dead man –
eyes wide open –
gun in hand.

The raindrop could well be a tear –
and then a thousand more –
to fall –
On fields with rivers –
made of blood –
a playground full of all your fears.

The thunder of a shell destroyed,
charging men –
of age unknown –
They drop, they die –
no arms, no legs –
to never see their older years.

As metal cuts the eagle’s path –
fire reigns and –
gunshots roar –
A war that has –
no rhyme or reason,
extinguishes a life – then more.

Oh can’t someone hear them cry?
Bring the martyrs their deserves,
Oh! Death be dancing here today –
Through this bloody,
pointless,
harrowed War…

Written By Shane Ferguson
On The 2nd Day of September 2008