The Toll Poem by Adam Latham

The Toll



The fighting has stopped now,
No one left.
Like a bell the trenches ring out their dead,
The morbid chimes of war
Never ceasing.
Never ceasing.

Smoke clears,
Twisted men line the front
Broken,
Heap upon heap upon heap,
The enemy's gone
But of glory there is none.

The guns fall silent
Redundant,
But at what cost?
A high price paid for peace,
Everyone lost,
Everyone lost.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: war
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Adam Latham

Adam Latham

Stoke-on-Trent
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