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ASHES (Metamorphosis)
ASHES (Metamorphosis) ©Elias Skrive The dream is the bugle’s call, A clarion stirring from cowardly sleep. The commandant’s pep siring a hero from within; A conviction to rain bombs as avenging storms, A gumption to spit bullets as judgments. Protecting and serving is all that matters, for nothing must fall except ashes.
Reality becomes shells and screams: a brutal awakening from tired sleep. The drug of duty pushes through heated battles, a potent concoction of fear and bloodlust. Blood and smoke choke the throat of the sanity; the corpses of friends and foes haunt the conscience, As each battle becomes a bloody supplication to death. The trenches become muddy homes to wonder If protecting and serving is all that matters, now that everything is falling into ashes.
An unsung hero makes it back in one piece, His slumbers seeking the smiles of peace. The nights are nothing but haunting daytimes; The days are nothing but tiring dozes, as homely sounds taunt the memories of shells and screams. Still, the familial touch soothes from the haunting embrace of the fallen. The joyful laughter of children turning explosions into redeeming music; For it is all that matters, to protect and serve, lest everything fall into ashes.
The sample given above was personally written for a poetry contest. However, I need a sincere rating between 1-10 given to gauge its eligibility as a contest entry based on its tone, style, theme, rhythm, punctuation, and overall structure.
Dreams are like the sound of a bugle calling. A loud call waking from a cowardly sleep. The leader's encouragement brings out a hero from inside. A strong belief to drop bombs like storms of revenge. The courage to shoot bullets like judgments. Protecting and serving is all that matters, so nothing should fall but ashes.
Reality turns into shells and screams: a harsh awakening from tired sleep. The duty drives through intense battles, a strong mix of fear and desire to fight. Blood and smoke make sanity hard to breathe; the dead friends and enemies haunt the mind. Each battle becomes a bloody prayer to death. The trenches become muddy homes to think about If protecting and serving is all that matters, now that everything is turning into ashes.
An unrecognized hero returns safely. His sleep looks for the smiles of peace. The nights are just haunting daytimes; The days are just tiring naps, as familiar sounds remind of shells and screams. Still, the family's touch comforts from the haunting memories of the fallen. The happy laughter of children turns explosions into healing music; For it is all that matters, to protect and serve, or everything will turn into ashes.