The Ghost of False Salvation

This is a poem written by my daughter for an English class copying a style of a famous writer which in this case is that of Edgar Allan Poe. My daughter is a senior in high school. This poem is a depiction of a Vietnam war through the eyes of a soldier who was away from his family and fighting a war that never wins. The writing style of a poem is exceptionally good as well it was well written. I am proud of my daughter's writing ability.


The Ghost of False Salvation

By: Angelica Sarmiento

A man does stand, who stood asunder, betwixt a jungle in which to wander
and a place of no more sorrow, from a conviction red with fear.
Stand does he between the rustle, rustling of the jungle,
juggling with which to toil, then toiling with the cries he hears.
Though the heartbreaking cries resound, he sheds not a tear,
Finding no salvation here.

Dirty earth between his fingers, the calamity still grows and lingers,
Whispering Death crawls and quivers, telling tales about his peers.
All the movement through dugout tunnels, tumbling over young men pummeled,
And through tragic disappointment finds his leader gone, laying on the field
And his bloody hands filled him with a shuddering ghostly ere,
He knew, there is no savior here.

So tightly did he clench his rifle, trifling with much to die for
Home and country out of mind, but not his Juliet he loved so dear.
Then did the calm commotion, which he lived with much devotion,
rip amidst the red explosion blinding him from his dark and growing fear.
And still trudges on, though limbless, without a tear.
Wanting no salvation here.

Poor Juliet lay at home, in bed, in church, and so alone,
And still she weeps and moans, to throw the news she has long feared
And not half as strong as the love she lost, to fight for rights and freedom lost,
She cast her vote for death and won, and no longer shed a tear.
the angels grew to anger, threw her down to sinful galere
Salvation was non-existent here.

Not knowing her loved has fallen not, she lay there in the hellish rot,
Where demons taught her out of thoughts of how to be sincere
And laced her ember hairs with malice maladapted, and unattractive
Set her free upon the breeze to bring more soldiers to burn with her
She came across a face familiar that she almost did call dear,
She brought false salvation here.

Finally the man beguiled, by the ghost who laughed and smiled,
With the innocence of a child, swiftly carried him to a black belvedere
Lay there he, with such intention, that one would quickly cry to mention,
What the wind carried as message to torture his Juliet he loved so dear.
"Juliet," said he, "Oh please cry not for me, and do my sweet live happily,
enjoy our sweet salvation."