Not related to anything. But I started writing poetry not to long ago, which has helped me immensly with expressing myself.
An example one…
Gifts Left by War
Rain pours down from the greyest sky, the men are brave the guns are raised
The sound of rounds are tearing by, the bullets fly and look rather phased
The thought of all they had to fight for, left nothing more then determination to survive
And in ones man mind were particular words, he had promised, his heart to drive
Every moment of silence, is a moment still to wonder
Thoughts to stray, if youll ever feel that whispering put under
So, during the battle of patience and fighting your muscles of tension
You’re trying to brace yourself for that agonising moment of suspension
The men try hard to keep down their fatal fear
And force the sick to stay inside for the final premiere
The loyalty flickers wavers and hope is washed away in the rain
The sound of thunder striking as a bullet finds it’s way through their neighbor’s brain
After a moment of shock, in which the men grieve for their silent friend
They let loose a barrage of bullets in hopes to find amend
Their payment bounces back, off the rocks and onto shore
Leaving no more to review, then a rough graze to their lore.
Through hazy mist of blood and dew, a faded figure appears
And behind yet, another follows without so much as a tear
Across the jagged ridge that follows the gravestones
The path to mark the way back home, scattered with bones
Two men who stand so tall and proud, showed no signs of hate or fear
Rough weather, showed it’s anger and warning, with a thundering flare
Consequences of blood, wet in the rain, left to seep into her land
The rage between the men fighting and nature at her stand
Bullets burst forth, guns smoking in the their stead
Bodies drop from the walls and flump into the reed
A bang, much louder then any other rings out with cold steel
And drains away the stength of the friend, and all his staggering feel
Time has slowed, rain no more cold, the feel of wind, no longer there
As thunder claps and and thunder flashes, the sound of fighting no longer near
The only importance, no longer the war, no longer the enemy, is here to lay in his arms
The last of your friends, who you fought to make it this far with, etched with his charm
