I’m sure most of you out there have written a poem or two in your lifetimes.  Mine didn’t get out there very far because I thought they were puerile and a waste of paper.  It’s been years since I’ve written any poetry.  In a phrase, it sucked.

I came across a secret stash of them the other day and read through them all.  Throughout this impromptu reading session I suppressed my gag reflex and consistently asked myself what the hell was I thinking.  In every case, the answer turned out to be: I wasn’t.

One caught my eye though, and it was halfway decent.  It’s decent enough that I’m posting it on my blog for whoever wants to read it.  If the date on the file is any indication, this was one of the last poems I wrote before ditching the medium altogether, and even contemplated not writing anything at all for some time (more on that later).

Atop a Platform High

Atop a platform high
From this vantage point we see
All the men gathered round ready to die

Atop a platform high
We see the enemy coming from afar
Marching to their irregular beat

Atop a platform high
We give our words and wisdom
Ordering the men forth to battle

Atop a platform high
We see the sun rise up on the field
As the battle begins

Atop a platform high
We hear not the bell toll
In the distance for the fallen

Atop a platform high
We breathe not the stale stench
Of the dying and the dead

Atop a platform high
We bow our heads and think
Of the next battle yet to begin…