the rifle buggered
I am out of bullets anyhow
so what the difference does it make
with half my troops under mud
so thick I do not even recognise
their agony or smile
depending how they died that day.
I saw at first light
the troop numbers dead or dying
by those left almost standing,
shivering in the cold of day.
Some had not stopped crying
from fear or loss
perhaps both
with what they witnessed the day before –
A bloody battle had begun
and then as riflemen did fall
bayonets began to clash –
the metal sound entering their flesh.
God only knows
why boys must die this way
and mothers and fathers tragedy will be theirs
until they at least, in their old age, will be dead.
God only helps those who are to survive
this blood-letting crime
so we can at least one day go home
no matter how few
we must forever constantly ensure
the madness of this day, this year, this scene
does not ever again be repeated religiously
as some tribal festivity.
June 26th, 2011
Tags: Tales of Battle-weary Men
