Warrior's Walk

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a poem I wrote right after reading Ishmael Beah's novel A Long Way Gone; Memoirs of a Boy Soldier. The book documents his life as a soldier in the Sierra Leone Army, and the struggles he goes through to leave that life. My Poem however, only encompasses the time before he was a soldier that he was forced to run for his life from the rebels and the time that he became a soldier. It does not speak on his rehabilitation.

Submitted: June 14, 2011

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Submitted: June 14, 2011



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Ishmael! Ishmael!

Brother calls,

As feet trample, run wildly, through untamed woods

Behind left, food, shelter, people

A town's worth of unclaimed goods

This is evil

Biting at my ankle, nipping at my heel

No time to relax, I must move faster

Fatal wound, punctures, A woman I know

No time to act, I just move past her

All on me, Fate in my own hand

Time to, react, I am The Catcher

In the Rye, but I catch no man

Catch only, my own sigh, in between panted breath

Feet never touching ground, in the shadow of death

Bullets feel no hate, no envy, no pain, no greed

They do not discriminate, have distain for no race, no creed

They follow orders, travel the course they where supposed to

Perfect soldiers, doing exactly as they where told to

Ishmael! Ishmael!

Friends call,

As I walk desolate and death ridden lands

Feet burned and cracked by the hot sands

Of beaches where the waters so warm

Fish aren’t cooked because they already come boiled

But I don't know that

Because by the time I reached the Seas Kettle

The natives already sent me back

Calling me Little Devil, and armed Rebel

The very same thing I flee

And my brother is

Another man says I must be

Well, Aint this some other shit

I would fight

But I've not eaten, it's foodless day four

God what I would do for just an apple core

And for that, for that, I would cry

But my eyes are too sore

For what my eyes have seen, and the places my feet have been

I bear witness to inhumane Slaughter

And for that, for that, I would cry

But it would be a waste of water

So, the ocean people tie me tightly

Bonding hands and feet to thee

Saying if I don't listen closely,

I will die and the bottom of the sea

And for that, for that, I would cry

But I have no energy

No Strength

So I listen, or rather I hear

Because the words they speak fall on a deaf ear

But eventually they untie me, kicking me in the rear

Sending me far, saying never to return here

“Because for you, here, death is always near”

Ishmael! Ishmael!

Ishmael! Ishmael!

Motherfucker that is not my name

Call me it again and I will banish you from whence you came

I am green snake, Lying flat, in the battles wake, I wait

Hidden deep in the tall grass, as the day grows late

I wait, to greet young boys, with younger fates

I wait, letting you and your comrades settle,

It is only after your sleep that I capture

Bringing down upon you hells rapture

Taking the book of life and ripping out your chapter

And with the very same paper, I build my campfire

Sitting back and tapping my foot to the gunshot quire

As it grows forever louder, I snort cocaine and gun powder

Increasing my power, until the final hour

Where the Weapon harmonizing subsides

And all the surviving have died

© Copyright 2018 Falcon Villiams. All rights reserved.

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