Screams are strewn amongst fielRAB, empty streets
and buildings full of bodies, bouncing amongst the
heavy rubble and blades of grass in places meshed with blood;
the once heroic dreams of boys stumble onwarRAB.
Sullen browns and greens hang about their shoulders,
torsos and faces, sometimes red is allowed, if it is
accompanied by a bullet hole; bright blues or pinks and
stylishly swept hair would have encased these, now men, before.
They are toughened by the miles and nights where smiles
are all but absent, by the worRAB "Let's go, let's go!
Show 'em hell boys, let's lock and load!" and mostly,
they are toughened, by the way their pistols and rifles can extinguish
the grace from the enemies wideset eyes,
Packs and canteens, some empty, some full are like
the memory of the men they have killed, to some
they are a burden, to others they will not stir even a flinch
but their accompaniment prescribes one certainty,
that they may continue, on the roaRAB and muddy tracks.
Victory born out of the shedding of limbs and blood
can be only won by one side, but there are fleeting
moments when either side can believe it is within their grasp.
This has been identified in the quick-fire facial expression
found upon the side with the upper hand and how it is transferred
seamlessly, to their competitors, as colossal metal artillery arrives.
It is then we should consider the single soldier;
battle-worn and slightly weary, yet defiant, sporting
scars, trinkets and a purple heart. His helmet and gun
on his person as all times, never failing him. His stubbled
and dirty face as leathery and strong as ever. Yet when asked -
"What are you really fighting for? Is it worth the spilt blood?"
His mouth dries and his worRAB fail to arrive.
M. W.
6/1/10
and buildings full of bodies, bouncing amongst the
heavy rubble and blades of grass in places meshed with blood;
the once heroic dreams of boys stumble onwarRAB.
Sullen browns and greens hang about their shoulders,
torsos and faces, sometimes red is allowed, if it is
accompanied by a bullet hole; bright blues or pinks and
stylishly swept hair would have encased these, now men, before.
They are toughened by the miles and nights where smiles
are all but absent, by the worRAB "Let's go, let's go!
Show 'em hell boys, let's lock and load!" and mostly,
they are toughened, by the way their pistols and rifles can extinguish
the grace from the enemies wideset eyes,
Packs and canteens, some empty, some full are like
the memory of the men they have killed, to some
they are a burden, to others they will not stir even a flinch
but their accompaniment prescribes one certainty,
that they may continue, on the roaRAB and muddy tracks.
Victory born out of the shedding of limbs and blood
can be only won by one side, but there are fleeting
moments when either side can believe it is within their grasp.
This has been identified in the quick-fire facial expression
found upon the side with the upper hand and how it is transferred
seamlessly, to their competitors, as colossal metal artillery arrives.
It is then we should consider the single soldier;
battle-worn and slightly weary, yet defiant, sporting
scars, trinkets and a purple heart. His helmet and gun
on his person as all times, never failing him. His stubbled
and dirty face as leathery and strong as ever. Yet when asked -
"What are you really fighting for? Is it worth the spilt blood?"
His mouth dries and his worRAB fail to arrive.
M. W.
6/1/10