Young Writers Society

A/n: please review this mess of a poem. i might have over dramatized it, im not even going to try to lie bout that, but hopefully, the idea was kind of interesting????

t/w: blood

a storm rages right outside my window,
i press my face against the freezing glass,
it’s cold, cold, cold, but outside, i see the battlefield
a stalemate between the ice, the rain, the hail, the wind

it’s thrilling, exciting, amazing to watch,
they smash against the glass, the walls, the trees, the earth
i shiver with delight, i love the battlefield
they never stop to take breaks, they just keep fighting, fighting, fighting

it’s exciting to see them quarrel,
though i know they must be tired.
i’m sure they’re very tired of fighting all the time
but they can’t stop until the storm says so
and the storm never ends

it never ends

a storm rages inside my mind
it’s nothing like the uncontrollable, uncontained storm outside
perhaps because i’ve learned to control it, contain it.
the tempest inside me screams at me at night
it tells me that i can continue, that i can keep going,

at what point did i begin to wake up before the sun?
at what point did this horrible battle begin?
this storm of blades and blood, where i am just a mere soldier
amidst a thousand other mere soldiers

we climb up a mountain of corpses
together, hand in hand,
until our hands are no longer free,
and instead, we clutch bayonets tightly between our fingers.

but day by day they slowly disappear
they battle with each other, fist to fist, blade to blade
and collapse onto the mountain of corpses
each of them washed away by the storm

now it’s me and only me
i continue trudging forward,
pushing myself up the slope,
clutching a bloody bayonet in my hands

perhaps this bayonet is my only friend
soaked in the blood of each of my companions
and the tears of every battle
and the debris of the never-ending storm

finally, the summit is near
is the battle finally over, the storm finally ending?
i reach the top of the mountain,
and look down at my feet


and i cry
and its cold
and it hurts
and im alone

im sure someone has noticed
i hope they pity me
i hope they’re sad for me
but i know that isn’t true

perhaps they’ve been watching, they’ve been watching all along
this battlefield, this storm of thousands upon thousands of soldiers
they watch this storm excitedly, laughing at the thrill of the fight
they’re just pressing their faces against the window