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I have a poem that was published a year ago in a book called Timeless Voices. Titled A Soldiers Downfall.

He went to fight for freedom, sent by Uncle Sam.
He lost his wife and children when he went to Vietnam.
He walks the cold, dark streets, his bed is on the ground.
Tears stream from his eyes at night, he never makes a sound.
His life is in a bottle, his home, the woods outside.
He never asks for money, this man still has his pride.
He goes to jail from time to time, he dreams of his past life.
His heart is with his children and his dear departed wife.
They found him in the woods today, a bottle in his hand,
And now he has his promised peace in God's eternal land.

Timothy Daniel Harrison

Copyright ©2006 Timothy Daniel Harrison

excellent poem.....

I liked your poem! Well done.

It's a good write.

Many of these people descend to this state and it's a true shame.
They get sent, they are hailed as heros, and then are forgotten.
We cannot see what they saw, feel what they felt.
The horos stay.
Some can beat them and others can't.

Thank God for a pigeon that saved my Grandfather in WWI.
My maternal grandfather was trapped.

The Unknown Soldier

“…shipped off in 1917…
…was a SGT…
…in the 77th division.
I was in the first phase…
…with the 302 engineers…
We got to the Aire river…
…the engineers were working on the railroad…
…at La Harazee…
…and there were no provisions…
…we used mules to drag the railcars…
…made harnesses out of our belts…
…and we got to the abandoned dumps.

I was a member of The Lost Battalion.
Our watchword was…
“No Surrender.”

I survived in that deep ravine…
…the sounds of groaning…
…the bloody stumps of where legs had been…
…shorn arms…
…brains on the ground…
…The French support couldn’t get to us…
…we had to resort to carrier pigeons…
…and couldn’t get any messages back.

We were being bombarded…
…by our own…
… and we piled up putrid corpses for protection…
…our own didn’t even know where we were…

…and I limped away with two fingers remaining on my right hand…

Cath

…and with The Purple Heart.

This Cemetary
This cemetary is the place where I dwell,
somewhere in the middle, between heaven and hell.
I was laid here to rest for so many years.
I've seen so much madness, and many a tear.
I was burned as a warlock and then thrown in this grave.
Now, I roam this old graveyard as it's master, and slave.
No mortals can see me, I remain so alone.
This yard of the dead is the place I call home.
Cursed by my own hexes, shall I ever find rest?
Or, shall this dead ground be forever my nest?
My eyes have seen many rise up to the clouds.
Yet, for all of my deeds, I was never allowed.
So, I'll haunt this dark place for a million more nights,
and cause curious people a million more frights!
This cemetary is the place where I dwell.
Somewhere in the middle, between heaven and hell.

Timothy Daniel Harrison

Copyright ©2006 Timothy Daniel Harrison

Both works are good: concise and tightly written. Good job!

On Liberty's Side
The towers crumbled to the ground.
Thick smoke fell upon the town.
Tears fell from the eyes of men,
who questioned would peace come again.
America was one that day.
Race or religion did not stay.
They wounded Liberty on her side,
but it takes much more to harm her pride.
Next, her children poured from her streets.
Her heart, it never skipped a beat.
A tear fell from her loving eye,
as mankind nursed the wound on her side.
Now, shall we not forget so fast,
the pain they caused still today lasts.
Now, she is healing, but her scar still remains.
And America's heart still beats today.
And though they may run, they can never hide.
It was but a mere flesh wound on Liberty's side.


Timothy Daniel Harrison

Copyright ©2006 Timothy Daniel Harrison

very nice Tim, very heartfelt!

Hey Tim, Ashley here. I'm looking at your posts, and you got it going on, my friend! You have a rare talent - thanks for sharing.