DEVTOME.COM HOSTING COSTS HAVE BEGUN TO EXCEED 115$ MONTHLY. THE ADMINISTRATION IS NO LONGER ABLE TO HANDLE THE COST WITHOUT ASSISTANCE DUE TO THE RISING COST. THIS HAS BEEN OCCURRING FOR ALMOST A YEAR, BUT WE HAVE BEEN HANDLING IT FROM OUR OWN POCKETS. HOWEVER, WITH LITERALLY NO DONATIONS FOR THE PAST 2+ YEARS IT HAS DEPLETED THE BUDGET IN SHORT ORDER WITH THE INCREASE IN ACTIVITY ON THE SITE IN THE PAST 6 MONTHS. OUR CPU USAGE HAS BECOME TOO HIGH TO REMAIN ON A REASONABLE COSTING PLAN THAT WE COULD MAINTAIN. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SUPPORT THE DEVTOME PROJECT AND KEEP THE SITE UP/ALIVE PLEASE DONATE (EVEN IF ITS A SATOSHI) TO OUR DEVCOIN 1M4PCuMXvpWX6LHPkBEf3LJ2z1boZv4EQa OR OUR BTC WALLET 16eqEcqfw4zHUh2znvMcmRzGVwCn7CJLxR TO ALLOW US TO AFFORD THE HOSTING.

THE DEVCOIN AND DEVTOME PROJECTS ARE BOTH VERY IMPORTANT TO THE COMMUNITY. PLEASE CONTRIBUTE TO ITS FURTHER SUCCESS FOR ANOTHER 5 OR MORE YEARS!

The U.S Soldier

The U.S Soldier stood alone,
Gazing up at his throne,
Bombs of red was at his feet,
Desperate cries where he sat.
Thirst and hunger cried to his throat,
His fantasy of getting out of the place crawling his spine,
Attached to his back a weapon of choice,
And a knife in his thigh.
He smiled and smiled sitting there.
He was just a pawn, and he knew all along.
The last survivor of his spree,
Came and asked of thee,
"Why have you not killed me, to let me suffer?"
He replied in a harsh voice,
"Why are you complaining?
I lost my life when I was born,
The dream of being a Soldier gave me sleep,
But look at me now; In a heap."
The survivor stood firm on his ground,
"You've killed my father, and my mother.
I have nothing to live for,
And I cannot bury their souls."
The Soldier replied,
"Please do not remind me,
They touched God's face,
And he held them in his arms,
He told them not to worry,
I would be damned."
The survivor than took the knife out of his thigh,
And the Soldier growled and groaned with pain.
"You felt pain, just as I have.
I forgave you with all I had.
You will touch God's face also,
And I will too.
Judgement day will come,
And we'd meet again.
Just like this."
The Soldier had no idea what he was saying,
How could he reach the clouds?
He killed a whole village,
Slaying even newborns.
He killed their crops,
And he pillaged.
He gave them no rights,
And he made them slaves to his will.
They feared him,
And he abused the women.
He shot all their windows,
Tore down all their doors,
Stole all of their money,
Yet he would reach the clouds?
He thought it was so foolish,
Yet he wanted to believe.
He sat their thinking,
He sat their wondering.
He had did so much wrong,
And he danced with the Devil.
He was ruthless,
He was a Sergent.
He was battered,
He was in pain.
Suddenly he felt angry at the Survivor,
And wanted to kill him so badly,
But instead he asked, "Why would you give me hope?
There's none left for me."
The Survivor started to hum a tune,
He whistled and hummed,
He sounded like a flute,
So calm.
So gentle.
He sounded like a bird,
On Summer's Edge.
Yet he stood there;
Ribs showing,
Hungry and thirsty,
Fragile,
So little.
Yet he had so much hope,
And that was when the Soldier cried.
"Please take me now,
Please get revenge,"
Yet the Survivor only replied with,
"You have too much to live for,
And I do too,
I will not take your life,
But you can choose with your will."
The Survivor handed the knife to the Soldier,
And the Soldier bought it close to his heart,
He knew he wanted to do it,
But something stopped him.
A gun shot rung out,
And he stepped in front of the Survivor.
The bullet went close to his heart,
Through his skin.
He heard only his heartbeat,
And piercing sounds.
He felt blood draining from him,
And sounds of other men.
He heard the Soldiers,
Oh the other Soldier's cries,
Tears of pain rushed out of him,
H fell on his knees,
He tried to talk yet nothing came out,
He tried with all his might but he could not do it,
He tried to beg for forgiveness.
He tried to repent.
He smiled,
And smiled again.
Knowing were he would go,
And that the Survivor would be wrong.
He had no hope left,
And he thought he was going to die,
He started to feel air feel up his lungs,
He felt the bullet being dragged from his body,
Yet he couldn't feel the pain.
He felt the fire,
The soft flames tickling his chest,
Burning the wounds.
He felt the beer going down his throat,
The cold beer.
How could he have lived?
His sight was improving,
And he saw the Survivor hunched over him smiling,
"I breathed air into you,
So you would not die.
I didn't want revenge,
And I would want the man that killed my family dead."
He could see he was in a plane.
Headed back to the HQ.
He saw the other worried Soldiers faces.
And when they saw him,
They all rushed over.
"We couldn't let our new General die,
We couldn't even watch."
The Soldier was confused, why were they calling him that?
Finally the Survivor touched his chest,
And he could see he was now in his Parade Uniform.
For he had a new medal; A medal that proved what he had done.
He saw the medal of leadership,
Of new Soldiers,
Of training the Recruits.
He saw the medal of guiding,
And pushing people to the limit.
He saw the medal of hard work,
Sweat,
And tears.
He saw the blood and all,
Yet he was still smiling.
He saw all the pain,
All of the work and crying.
He saw he was now training pawns.
He was now turning them into monsters.
He was turning them into ruthless things,
With Sadistic feelings.
He saw the emotional torture,
Of being away from your family.
He saw so many things,
He started crying.
He had so many things.
So much life and power.
Yet he felt so powerless.
Nothing at all.
He felt happy and dark.
He thought he was mad,
Yet from one piece of his mind,
He thought of the Survivor.
He asked calmly,
"Who are you,"
The Survivor produced a grin,
And slowly said:
"Vincent Cyka Pushov"
"Vincent of Russia,
That is.
Descended from Ivan,
Descended from the terrible.
I have committed so many crimes against humanity itself,
Yet you weep,
Yes, you weep.
You've killed twenty-five,
And I've killed hundreds.
I've done the true dance with the Devil."
And since that day,
Vincent and I have been friends.
Dear children, my dear children;
No matter what you've did,
Always remember others have did,
is four times worse
Than your small sins.


Poetry


QR Code
QR Code the_u.s_soldier (generated for current page)
 

Advertise with Anonymous Ads