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Get Up You Filthy Prisoner

I have been writing poetry, fiction and short stories for many years and have completed a book of poems. I also enjoy comedy writing.

Prisoners of War

Prisoners of War

Get up you sub-human, you religious filth

Hold your face steady while I aim a spit

Get up you...Before I empty this round in your face

Dirty prisoner of war captured and begging, a soldier's disgrace

Look out yonder, you see how many of your brothers and sisters I killed?

This one here was begging for mercy, a simple civilian.

But collateral damage I say, shots made her powdered away like cinnamon

What? why do you look at me that way? Is it because blood runs from this child's face?

I feel no pity, he was at the right time at the right place!

The more of you degenerates I kill, the more free my country will be

What I do is for God and even your own liberty

I am a soldier, my duty is to protect my country in the name of God

kneel here, shut up and die while I do my job.

Haa, a simple shot to the forehead was all that it took

I had to end his miserable stinking life, beside I hated how he looked

Come on fellas, we did good today

Let's go find s a few native whores and have our way

Booze and bullets, prostitution and rape

Soldiers in other countries, is an accepted grace

Blood and bitches, the sweet smell of burnt flesh and explosion.

While Prime ministers and Presidents meet in secret societies doing under age implosions.

Limbs and organs, scatter across deserts and daughters maiden taken by ten

Frustration builds, hate builds, flags burn, the world hating the anthem

It's time again, soldiers enjoying the blood

Rain falls, dead bodies used as walkways in the mud

Clay and brick buildings once again riddled by shots

Doors kicked open, family members dead, a sister and a brother cringing in the corner like rats

Testosterone shouts at the shaking child as he reaches for his scarf

Wrong action, wrong reaction, automatic rifles begin to bark

Little children, died hugging each other closely

While soldiers cheered on, marking an X on their death count boastfully.

When will it end?

© 2018 Clive Williams