Poems on the topic: enemy

Poems on the topic “enemy” on Poets.by.

AnxiousDave Bonta

Guerrilleros

looking like people that had taken leave of the world we would go off to meet the enemy towards evening just as the great difference between us was in doubt
AngryDave Bonta

Mare Frigoris

I have a secret hate like a private sea that taste of ships put out to rust that anything other than desert for a voyage to white hair and ill health my head full of how to get rid of my enemy
ContemplativeDave Bonta

The enemy of the good

Old papers trouble me, like some high country where all are peaceable but against us. I draw things as they are, glad that my mind is troubled.
CheerfulDave Bonta

Tin soldier

I could join the war glad as rust I would go be the enemy for an afternoon.
SadBatman

Brick Wall

I'm just a brick wall Sitting here proud and strong But it comes with a price I'm always alone, no people to lean on me If I crumble there's no one to repair me So that day when I crumble I'll just sit there More broken than I am The enemy doesn't stop beating on me Pounding me, trying to get me to crumble Sometimes people come and help But usually they leave before the enemy is done The enemy slowly beats me, the brick wall, down And when they finally manage, it's chaos inside There is nowhere safe to hide They can only stand and fight
ContemplativeMaxwell Bodenheim

To an Enemy

I despise my friends more than you. I would have known myself but they stood before the mirrors And painted on them images of the virtues I craved. You came with sharpest chisel, scraping away the false paint. Then I knew and detested myself, but not you, For glimpses of you in the glasses you uncovered Showed me the virtues whose images you destroyed.
ContemplativeLeonora Speyer

Decoration Day

This is the day of dauntless memories, Hours that live turn back to deathless hours, But sheltered in my heart there lies, As in a grave, A memory serene and brave That needs no flowers. No valiant tale to stir the blood to wine — Dear enemy that struck at me and fled! — And yet the victory was mine. As mine the pain, And still my heart resounds its gain, Its cherished dead.

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