Thread: Being Fixed

In the examiner´s table, examiners
in the hallways of lost heroes,
heard us make songs when
our legs kicked.
and the armor broke of powdered dust,
a measure of strength.

0ur strength was tested too many times
protected by an armor,
that killed death and sickness combined,
glad we scratched our exposed skin,
we savored victory from the
scratch marks marked on our skin.
Unable to feel reasons to live,
soldiers made their own guesses what was harm's way,
trying to get back inside an armor,
while the army layed outside and waylaid.

The soldiers felt the light approaching.
It was raining,
water droplets moist and damp on our skin,
where with water,
of our coats pourous with water and blood,
that showed us the bravery two-fold
that was now like a day gone by,
In our watery aura that did not protect us,
while our body temperature and body
reeked with weaknesses.

Our blood banks were being eaten like animals,
short supplies,
we always were dying,
and the doctors helped us.
Inside white buildings
needles were injected to heal us,
those who came said,
that it was the place of the needed. Health equipment in the wards
did not cure diseases with a single medicinal
remedy, such as herbs, or using therapy on the
wounds to feel better,
to see all that was right.

To see a miracle worker.
Without breath, was
to be tied to a
stump,
waiting for the newest clue of the remedy.

I find intriguing little nuggets here and there in this one, but I must confess that I don't understand all that is happening. Some of the language doesn't flow right, almost as if the writer of these thoughts is new to speaking English. I don't know if this is the case, or if you wanted it to seem that way. I did enjoy, and will be coming back for more reads.

Thanks. This was a special piece since I tried working on it for weeks at a time to get inspired. That was when I was fairly new to poetry.

My first language is Spanish. I will correct the grammar structure in later revisions. Someone commented once that it did not flow too well. I have posted this in some places since I always thought well of this piece. I know my english has problems and it is a good con to make for the piece. Anyways thank you for your comments.The criticism is very true and I will work on it some more.

I could catch on....

I, however, must say that your imagery is very good

something I should try to capture in my poetry

I truly didn't mean it to be a criticism, as much as an observation. I've always admired those who can write poetry in another language, other than their mother tongue, truly amazing. I can't imagine how hard it must be. Kudo's to you for that.

I don't really understand what I'm reading. My interpretation is that it's about wounded soldiers who become weak, yet some of it doesn't match with that idea. Perhaps you could explain the meaning?

It's about soldiers "being fixed" in a hospital. It use to be a poem depicting the negative portrayal of soldiers in hospitals with regards to their sacrifices in war time.

That was what inspired the idea. This is about soldiers in hospitals and what that means and we definetly know it's a humble profession.

Sorry about that. My second language is english. Anyways I looked it over again but no new changes except for a grammar error that was in the work. Any grammar errors will be fixed when I have been given the chance.

Thank you for commenting.