Dead Boy Running

hgfj

They're coming, see them coming.
They're over the hill.
See their faces.
They're ready to kill.
They're looking at you, boy.
They want your blood to spill.


Drop your gun and start to run.
Bombs are falling but don't start crawling.
Just keep going, get out of here,
you're running now with the speed of fear.
Running wild, running blind,
don't dare stop to look behind.
Severed limbs, gushing blood,
shattered bodies in the mud.


Bullets flying, soldiers dying, grown men crying.


Bang Bang, yer dead.
Shot ya in the head.
Bang Bang, yer dead.
Didn't ya hear what I said?

But the boy don't hear.
He's got blood in his ear.
And his legs just keep going
without the poor guy knowing.


See the dead boy run.

Run, buddy, run.
Run for the sun.
You'll never get there.
You've had yer fun.

See the dead boy run.


Then he stops, and he drops,
and the look of surprise
does nothing to hide
the fear in his eyes.


So a letter is sent,
We're sorry to say,
your Boy is dead
but he wanted it that way.
He died like a hero,
died like a man,
died with his boots on
and a gun in his hand.
He wasn't discouraged,
he wasn't dismayed,
last thing he said was,
I'm not afraid.
Then he faced the enemy
and charged with a yell.
Musta killed a thousand men
by the time he fell.

PS
You can pick up his belongings
outside the gates of hell.



There's blood on the altar,
there's blood on the floor,
there's blood on the wall,
there's blood on the door,
there's blood on the street,
there's blood on the land
there's blood on my clothes,
there's blood on my hands
there's blood in the sea,
there's blood on the moon,
and when the blood stops flowing
it won't be too soon...

Sheridan81

I've read a lot of your stuff now and you have some lyrical ability. But I'm not sure you're critical enough; you should weed the garden, leave the flowers.

Potentially good, but amongst the gems, there's scrap, eloquence interspersed with drivel. Needs more structure, pare it down, shorten, make it more subtle.
Too many clunky lines which don't flow, don't fit. Some cliches. Leave out the dross.

I rewrote it. You are welcome to ignore my suggestions.


Running wild, running blind,
don't dare stop to look behind.
Severed limbs, gushing blood,
shattered bodies in the mud.

There's blood on the altar,
there's blood on the floor,
there's blood on the wall,
there's blood on the door.

He died like a hero,
he died like a man,
his unit was proud
he followed commands.

There's blood on the street,
there's blood on the land
there's blood on his clothes,
a gun in his hands.

He wasn't discouraged,
he wasn't dismayed,
last thing he said was
"I'm not afraid".

There's blood in the sea,
there's blood on the moon
He wrote to his girl
"I'm coming home soon".

Then he faced the enemy
and charged with a yell-
Musta killed ten men
by the time he fell.

hgfj

Thanks for the feedback. Appreciate you taking the time and effort. I wrote it when I was 17 or 18, inspired by a movie I saw about WW1. Might have been All Quiet on the Western Front, or something like that. Can't remember. But it's not a poem about a hero. Nor is it about a coward. Not that I dislike your rewriting of it but it becomes a different poem, at least for me anyway. It's about a boy on a battle field who takes a bullet to the head after he drops his gun and runs for his life.

Bang Bang, yer dead,
shot ya in the head.
Bang Bang, yer dead,
didn't ya hear what I said?

But the boy don't hear,
he's got blood in his ear.
And his legs just keep going
without the poor guy knowing.

See the dead boy run.


Other than that though, I agree with all the rest of your observations. Clunky and awkward, structure all over the place, needs weeding, lack of self criticism, and so on. Stuff I need to work on.

Also, I like your idea of separating the blood lines into alternate verses. Definitely helps with the whole structure thing.






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