I love to write poetry whenever I'm feeling especially emotional. These are a few poem I wrote about WW2. I could interpret them for you if you don't really get it. Sometimes I don't even get what I write x3

The Bomber on the Ceiling~

A relic years past, a plane on the ceiling-
How you hang and project your stories for the generations.
One can only hope to hold back the tears,
the songs you sing,
the stories you tell and the emotions you bring.
One shown love like years before to show yourself off on that old floor,
to fly beyond where a meek heart will go,
to follow the strong through fire and Hell and snow.
Your wings are chipped and your wheels been shot,
some we remember and most we forgot,
but you speak of their name,
how thankful we are
that you flew and died and survived thus far.
A relic years past, a plane on the ceiling-
To tell stories and tales,
What a heavy feeling.
_

An Aluminum Friend~

So this is how we part.
By the heat of an angry sun.
By the dagger of those who rip away the sky.
I've been struck down, and I'm sorry.
I just wasn't quite enough.
I suppose I'll try one more time to take you home.
I'll let you down as easy as I can and let you go.
Let the others go first, they'll see you around.
But please, stay with me just a few more seconds.
Let me down easy as a rock.
I can't sustain anything slower.
Leave me, just tell my story and hold a fond memory.
Maybe we'll meet again, maybe we won't.
Just don't look behind you.
Just hurry up and be home in time for tea.
_

The Fading Soldier

I look up.
What is it that I see?
A cloud.
A sun.
A bird.
Life is simply free.
But I look behind all of it,
then what is it I see?
I see the figure of a soldier,
Looking back at me.
He's wounded, hurt and beat,
like no man aught to be.
He's seen things, done things,
that he could never mention to me.
I ask him why he's hiding.
I ask him why he's there.
'I'm just a simple soldier,'
He says
'just drifting through the air.'
But didn't you save the world?
'No. I did my part.'
But all the parts in a clock-
'I just fought with most my heart.'
Then why are you hiding?
'I don't want to be seen.'
Why not?
'For all that I've seen.'
But you seem to be fading away!
'Aye, so I am, but what of it?'
Your story! Out with it!
'I suppose if you insist.'
'If you really want to know.'
I do! Do tell!
'Let me set the show.'
'I'm a man, like you and your father.'
'A man with a gun. A mission. An order.'
You're a lot more than that, I cry!
'Please, let me finish.'
'I did what I had to do.'
'It's my duty. My prerogative.'
'My job was to take a hill. Clear a room, blow a mill-'
'All so you could stand here and ask me these questions.'
'But I'm not any different. You would do the same.'
'Maybe you will, and someone too will ask you questions.'
'Answer them, boy. Answer them all. Don't be silent like I did.'
'Throw it all onto the wall for the next to see.'
'Now I must leave you. Just-- do better than me.'