Poetry

Heavy Feet

By 24th April 2009December 9th, 2019No Comments

Those who plod, so loyally blind,
Who follow, mindlessly, without goal,
With no destination, no hope in mind,
And with all the trust of a newborn foal,

They march on with impending forebode,
Marching on, through trenches, and dreaming of home,
They keep on trudging, for their comely abode,
Marching along to that order; their tome,

That echoed order, through the chasms of ranks,
To take the fight to the enemy’s banks,
On foot, by boat, by plane or tank,
All for a grudge, a politician to thank,

They fight, they die, sweet sacrifice,
With circumstantial enemies to meet,
To die and leave as cold as ice,
To think this started with heavy feet…

Wade Riley

Author Wade Riley

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