Only a Soldier

4 posts
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Gender None specified
Points 890
Reviews 10
Only a soldier,
Whose tears left unshed,
Stronger than the battalion,
For which he has led.

Someone's dear son,
Or maybe a daughter,
Each man they have lost,
They fight even harder.

Their days are not numbered,
But as they're marching and crying,
They hope by the Grace of God,
That they might be dying.

While they're hunched in their tent,
Huddled alone,
They're dreaming of comfort,
And thinking of home.

But they fight for us now,
Younger and older,
And we never think twice but to say,
He was only a soldier.




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Gender Female
Points 1499
Reviews 104
Hello Catfood!

Welcome to YWS!!!!!

Let's get onto the review!


They hope by the Grace of God,
That they might be dying.

:shock: Why would they hope they would be dying?


While they're hunched in their tent,
Huddled alone,
They're dreaming of comfort,
And thinking of home.


Nice work on this stanza. I liked it a lot.
:D


But they fight for us now,
Younger and older,
And we never think twice but to say,
He was only a soldier.

Aww. So true. Such a sad ending. Great job!

Wow. This was a very good poem! I'm surprised no on else reviewed it. I like your writing style and the imagery and emotion in this poem is amazing.

I'll give this a 9/10.

Great job! PM me if you have any questions on my review or want me to review something else.
~Storm :D
"You know when you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams."
~~~
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User avatar
Gender Female
Points 1656
Reviews 122
Hey Catfood! I can say that this was a good poem, but you could make it even better.

Only a soldier,

Whose tears left unshed,

Stronger than the battalion,

For which he has led.


You open it very nicely, and I don't see any problems with this. The beginning was a great hook.

Someone's dear son,

Or maybe a daughter,

Each man they have lost,

They fight even harder.


Daughter and harder don't exactly rhyme. You should find something else to use. It throws off the reader.

Their days are not numbered,

But as they're marching and crying,

They hope by the Grace of God,

That they might be dying.


So true, so completely true. This was one of my favorite verses.

While they're hunched in their tent,

Huddled alone,

They're dreaming of comfort,

And thinking of home.


The flow of this verse is different than the others. Also, alone and home don't really rhyme. They're close, but not quite right. The impact of this verse is powerful, but you could use more imagery to make it even stronger.

But they fight for us now,

Younger and older,

And we never think twice but to say,

He was only a soldier.


That was a beautiful ending. I don't have anything to add to that.

Overall, this was a good poem. However, you should add more imagery to the poem. Make us paint pictures, don't just give us all the information. Your theme is strong, your message is clear, but it just seems bland. Spice it up a little, and then you'll have a great poem.
There once was a cat.
He wasn’t particularly fat.
Fuzzy was his favorite mat.
And really, that was that.

Oh, but did you really think so?
Keep reading, it’s just the start of the show!
And as for how far this tale will go…
Well, even the cat doesn’t know.




User avatar
Gender Female
Points 890
Reviews 7
I loved this poem, very moving and emotional.

Catfood wrote:Their days are not numbered,
But as they're marching and crying,
They hope by the Grace of God,
That they might be dying.


I really like this stanza. It shows the hard life of a solider. The need of getting out it conveyed through this beautifully.

Catfood wrote:But they fight for us now,
Younger and older,
And we never think twice but to say,
He was only a soldier.


This end is very sad but also very poignant. It's has some weight for a readers emotion because it is so true. Very good work and I hope to read more from you.
"Why should those who cannot create take upon themselves to estimate the value of creative work?"
~ Oscar Wilde



The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.
— Marcel Proust