Poem for english, do you guys like it?:
Lucario's War poem (WW1 ANZAC)
I lost my arm, a leg; the head
Of once my brother fell to me.
I caught it with a scream caressed with
Bowels, anointed with our blood –
Arterial – of crimson zest –
Ethereal in oxygenation.
Dying in our agony,
We make a sorry nation
Between the sob and clubbing of the gunfire
Someone, it seems, has time for this,
To pluck them from the shallows and bury them in burrows
And tread the sand upon their nakedness;
Dying in our agony,
We make a sorry nation
My mother whined a haunting dirge
Of ‘Why? ’ And ‘will this never end? ’
I answered with my bluing lips
And gurgles of antiphony.
Dying in our agony,
We make a sorry nation
For the first time in my life in my last ritual I listen
From those men that I was really a very very good man.
In such intense atmosphere of gloom and sad
My heart cheers and I become too much glad.
Dying in our agony,
We make a sorry nation
And each crosses, the driven stake of tidewood,
Bears the last signature of men,
Written with such perplexity, with such bewildered pity,
The words choke as they begin –
Dying in our agony,
We make a sorry nation
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.