Regret. Remorse. Resentment.

What is war? What does it really mean when they say, "you are serving your country well, soldier"?

Who are they to say they know how we feel? From the lies and the deception; the manipulation and the ultimate regret.


1. Regret. Remorse. Resentment.


Machine guns rattling, bullets flicking, muted screams of the dead.

Far, very far away from these dark trenches I long to be,

Where the German rifles cannot reach me,

Away from the snipers and bayonets,

Where only green and joy bloom,

Away from all the murder and doom.


The incredible terror,

The fear that wells in me.

Back on the morbid mud,

Eyes smothered by soundless smoke,

With the hellish, ear-splitting silence.

Then the time slithered -

Dirt aimlessly flies ;

Guns giggling and chuckling childishly;

Shells gracefully diving down;

Men run with horror on their faces -



Then the pain - the furious pain -

Burning, devouring, swallowing

Gradually the life that I once had.

And the sound of a magnificent cry,

From the mouth that was mine.

Flashes of my existence -

Friends, dead relatives,

The support for this war -



I awake with a jolt,

The excruciating pain -

I am now limbless.

‘It’s just a limb,’ they say,

‘You’ll be fine,’ they say,

I know that I shall return home,

With crowds cheering and chanting for me,

Barely walking with crutches,

Looking like a true hero who lost a limb

Trying to help the motherland,

Rather than those who stayed at home,

The cowards who are whole.

My dear! Who would have been delighted

To know that I’ve survived this ongoing war.



But I was soon disappointed…

I am not rewarded

Nothing - to them but

a pitiful melancholy shadow.

Memories of being a brand new toy

Washes over me with suffocating gas,

For I am now just an omit, obsolete and odious ragged doll.

The piercing, sharp longing of attention was overwhelming.

Vibrating through my veins like a drum.

I am pathetic for believing the manipulating lies.

Pathetic for being an insolent fool.

Pathetic to the extent of disgust.



“God save the Queen”

A holy anthem, one we sang often,

For we were to protect

“Our country! Our Queen!”

Our country whose land we ravage with devices of our own?

Our queen who sits on her throne.

As young men - blind, eager - rush to their ends?

Head high with hopes

Only to return to nothing.

Filled with a bitter taste,

Oh how I have fallen,

Falling for the cheery men who say “it will be fun!”

Falling for the hopes of a hero’s welcome

Falling for the calls of a coward

This is what I get.

Regret. Remorse. Resentment.



We need to give credit to another friend that helped us create this poem, but she doesn't have Movellas, but yeah. And another friend, gypsy-eatingalicorns <-- Movella name, who I somehow can't add to my co-author list. But yes, four people worked on this peom. Thanks for reading it guys! :)

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