Sunday, 6 November 2011

Garden of Death

Hmm... about the title. Garden of Death or Valley of Death? I can't really decide... just vote in the comments or something.
As you can maybe guess this poem is heavily based on two other poems that I really enjoy. One poem provided me with subject matter and the second with what Pyro labels as a "poem base"- basically rhythm and rhyme scheme.
Enjoy!


Garden of Death

I walked amongst the valley
Where all was sleeping still
That fateful fruitless rally
That charge straight down the hill
Refusal to surrender
The chances less than slender
A fiery death of splendour
Where crimson blood did spill

So many leagues they travelled
They travelled to their end
The plan became unravelled
But they did not amend
It wasn’t theirs to question
Nor make a small suggestion
Just die at their discretion
As mountain they descend

 The gleaming clash of sabres
The storm of shot and shell
The futile charge of army
In to the mouth of hell
Some bureaucrat had blundered
And so the cannon thundered
And left dead all six hundred
While horse and hero fell

The men were tired and weary
The cannons all around
And tested was a theory
As they fall to the ground
That death in war is noble
The concept became global
And fixed in time immobile
As corpses slowly browned

 The valley rests in silence
The zeal of vain glory
That good can come from violence
“Pro patria mori”
And beneath eternal night
Is a brigade made of light
Who are upheld shining bright
By telling their story

And now the thick, soft quiet
Envelops all that see
The remnant of a riot
Of inane destiny
Red rivulets of sand
A cold immortal hand
Alone in foreign land
Is all they’ve come to be

7 comments:

  1. ... should I feel bad for them?
    ... nah...

    *still glares at whoever sent them wherever*

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  2. I am always in awe after reading one of your poems, dear Octa. You are such a master with a truely extrodinary gift! I love this one. It is tragic but so brilliant and vivid in wording. It is another treasure that deserves to be read by everyone. It is so worthy to be published and celebrated as a great poem by a great and celebrated poet!
    *hugs* Well done Octa!
    SO EPICA!!

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  3. ....That. Was brilliant.

    It painted such a vivid picture in my mind, something that I love to happen with poetry. This is a great poem. Beautiful in a sad way.

    Another fantastic piece of writing.

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  4. That was so charming and alluring, it made me feel as If I were really there...!

    I got a feeling that it takes place in somewhere like Ancient Rome, or Ancient Greece, no?

    ...No, really, was that what I was supposed to see? What you had in mind when you wrote it?

    But, I have a question, that I've wondered for awhile, and some strange force has not allowed me to see the answer.

    What is gods name does Zeal mean? REALLY?! I DONT KNOW AND ITS DRIVING ME NUTS!!! I KEEP HEARING IT EVERYWHERE AND I DONT KNOW WHAT IT MEANS!!!!!!

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  5. Sorry for not replying earlier.

    Zeal means to have great energy or enthusiasm in pursuit of a cause or an objective.

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  6. And this takes place in the 19th Century.

    Just after the Crimean War.

    But really you don't have to stick to what the author says.

    It's up to you to interpet. That's what makes poems so great.

    I'm sure there are many meanings in my poems and poetry in general I or the author never thougt of or intended.

    Doesn't make them any less valid.

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  7. Oh! So that's what it means!

    Thanks for answering!

    (And I think I was just thinking alot about Rome when I read it, heh)

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