As many know, yesterday was Veteran's Day in  the United States. I've written many poems over the past few year, detailing for the most part, American Veterans. I'm going to take a stab at writing for our countries veterans, whether they be German, British, Russian or French. All countries have veterans who have also sacrificed all for different causes. Death has stalked families across the globe for the advancement of ideals, glory, riches and land. Other were thrust into conflicts to preserve their way of life. The following a tribute for those who clung to the banks of the Volga during the dark days of October-November 1942. Your thoughts and comments are appreciated.

They, Called it Hell

As I child, I remember her cool waters.

We and Ivan would dance and play,

with Rowina and Sasha.

Our days were filled with wonder and beauty.

The dark blue skies gave us,

Humble residents hope and joy.

The sun’s rays would warm the cool air,

glistening with untold strength,

to the might river, where we frolicked.

It seems so long ago.

Mine and Ivan’s eyes have grown cold and weary,

We longer think of skating on her vast

mountains of ice.

We no longer remember the endless days,

 lying with  Sasha and Rowina.

Instead, we can only see death.

It stalks at every corner.

There is no place to hide.

We warm ourselves with pitiful fires.

We eat what few rations,

Journey across her breadth.

She is the lifeblood for our salvation.

Every day is a challenge to survive.

Order are give and followed.

Fewer and fewer of us return,

But she keeps feeding the carnage.

When will it stop?

Surrender isn’t an option.

Our struggle must end in victory.

The once proud city is no longer,

a teeming metropolis.

The trams stopped operating months ago.

The citizens left, huddle in the oppressive

piles of rubble.

How they live, I do not know or care.

A tear with no emotion, trickles down my

dirt encrusted face.

I watch the bodies and debris ebb and flow

with her currents.

The stench of death brings an unknown comfort.

For in death, there is no pain, no terror, no missions,

Just peace.

To ache for it would be criminal. Too many have perished

at the hands of the aggressors.

They brought this unwanted war. They raped our land, our

women, our crops, our livestock.

They’ve burned our villages, shelled our cities, killed our children,

rounded up our old.

Ivan, Sasha, Rowina and I must fight. We must live to destroy

the invaders.

We will avenge the deaths of our comrades.

We will kill them in their sleep, when the walk,

When the drink, when the snipe.

Yes, we kill them without remorse or thought.

We will shed no tears as they fall

like sticks in the wind.

We trample them as one would a wounded

animal; no remorse or feeling.

They have hardened our hearts,

They have taught us how to fight.

They have taught us how to kill.

We have learned the lessons well.

The order to move comes.

We pick check our weapons of death:

Scopes, stock, bullets, barrel, bolts.

We are ready. We are ready to hunt

the sticks; riding them from our land.

We all stand, looking at the might Volga,

remembering a distant stolen past.

It is time. It is time to remind them

why They ,call it Hell!

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