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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
As soon as you realise this a poem,
Do not click on the back button,
Nor neglect to post,
Make a poet happy,
And post something nice!

This will eventually develop into a short story, if some one bothers to post.

The wind is an icy cold,
It bites the skin, freezes the bones,
It searches the soul, torments the mind,
It screeches and wails,
It is relentless,

You can try to hide,
Climb down into your bunk,
But the cold will still find you,
It has the voices of a hundred lost souls,
It finds it's way into your dreams,

Your starting to regret it now,
Thinking why didn't you run,
Hide from the parole officers,
You'd rather be dead than here,
Surely this is hell?

You'd rather be at home,
We all would,
But, you have to learn old son,
You can't avoid fate,
It'l always find you,

You can't run,
You can't hide,
Your here now,
Your fate has come,
You'l never walk home again,

Over the top they say,
No one comes back,
You just hear the scatter of gun fire,
The screams of the dead,
Then the winds blows colder,
 
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