Resolve toughened at the shooting range,
thumbs calloused from loading clips
sounds from afar of battle rage
his trembling parched thinned lips.
Caressing the body of his gun, he dreads the battle that must soon come,
knowing that it might be at the highest point of noon, or right in the middle of this gloom.
Within and around him the tension builds,
all around him, guns his comrades wield,
some to sleep's seductive lure yield,
blending in with the night darkened field.
He can not help but wonder all the while,
about the fate of the rank and file.
Listening to the jibes of the troop's jester 'bubbly' Kyle
he can only muster a weary smile.
Soon his lids are heavy and he drifts
in his dreams is a world free of this rift.
A dream he'd pick any day over this reality,
finding pleasure in the surreal, preferring not to part with it.
In the arms of his wife he finds escape, playing in his garden with his kids, dessert is cake.
Cutting short his bliss is his commander's yell,
how foolish they all were, he couldn't tell.
Here they were fighting a war instigated by some fat cats stacked away in some castle unaffected without tact.
Orders barked, they fall in line
He learns the enemy had flanked them in the middle of the night.
Adrenaline pumping, he knows he does't want this.
Ensuing shouts mean there will be no time for talking.
Bullets whizz past his ears like metallic bugs buzzing
In seven minutes his battalion is down by a dozen.
He'd signed up, but not for this
yet his brain washed mind keeps his feet trudging.
Forward he marches through the hail of bullets,
Taking cover and pulling the trigger when he can pull it.
Cries from the field tell of a brutal fate,
joints severed, the dead, his bloodied face.
One whizzes past, and from beside him a muffled cry
only a while back, right there stood 'bubbly' Kyle.
The soldier's panic and rage compete for precedence,
but only for a short while for soon his head feels dense.
The next moment he is on the ground, a gaping bloodied hole in his chest.
Tears pour as they flash, his kids,
her charming smile, her heaving breasts,
He looks at the hole which once bore the military's crest.
A sharp cry of pain escapes his lungs, he has seen death.
The hooded sickle bearing figure he'd often seen in paintings was nowhere to be seen,
but spatters of blood on trees, shattered bones and scattered spleens.
All he can think about is the pain, his wife,
and with disdain for she was the woman of his life.
The tears she cried that last passionate night, oh what he'd give for her not to know his plight.
Soon it gets cold, and the light dims,
In his line of sight, blocking out the skies, a face so grim,
set on its intentions, it's emotions unseen,
cold blood shot eyes, soon the nozzle of a gun is seen. It takes position
at ninety degrees to his forehead,
a loud bang was the last thing he heard.
I AM ONE MEN
thumbs calloused from loading clips
sounds from afar of battle rage
his trembling parched thinned lips.
Caressing the body of his gun, he dreads the battle that must soon come,
knowing that it might be at the highest point of noon, or right in the middle of this gloom.
Within and around him the tension builds,
all around him, guns his comrades wield,
some to sleep's seductive lure yield,
blending in with the night darkened field.
He can not help but wonder all the while,
about the fate of the rank and file.
Listening to the jibes of the troop's jester 'bubbly' Kyle
he can only muster a weary smile.
Soon his lids are heavy and he drifts
in his dreams is a world free of this rift.
A dream he'd pick any day over this reality,
finding pleasure in the surreal, preferring not to part with it.
In the arms of his wife he finds escape, playing in his garden with his kids, dessert is cake.
Cutting short his bliss is his commander's yell,
how foolish they all were, he couldn't tell.
Here they were fighting a war instigated by some fat cats stacked away in some castle unaffected without tact.
Orders barked, they fall in line
He learns the enemy had flanked them in the middle of the night.
Adrenaline pumping, he knows he does't want this.
Ensuing shouts mean there will be no time for talking.
Bullets whizz past his ears like metallic bugs buzzing
In seven minutes his battalion is down by a dozen.
He'd signed up, but not for this
yet his brain washed mind keeps his feet trudging.
Forward he marches through the hail of bullets,
Taking cover and pulling the trigger when he can pull it.
Cries from the field tell of a brutal fate,
joints severed, the dead, his bloodied face.
One whizzes past, and from beside him a muffled cry
only a while back, right there stood 'bubbly' Kyle.
The soldier's panic and rage compete for precedence,
but only for a short while for soon his head feels dense.
The next moment he is on the ground, a gaping bloodied hole in his chest.
Tears pour as they flash, his kids,
her charming smile, her heaving breasts,
He looks at the hole which once bore the military's crest.
A sharp cry of pain escapes his lungs, he has seen death.
The hooded sickle bearing figure he'd often seen in paintings was nowhere to be seen,
but spatters of blood on trees, shattered bones and scattered spleens.
All he can think about is the pain, his wife,
and with disdain for she was the woman of his life.
The tears she cried that last passionate night, oh what he'd give for her not to know his plight.
Soon it gets cold, and the light dims,
In his line of sight, blocking out the skies, a face so grim,
set on its intentions, it's emotions unseen,
cold blood shot eyes, soon the nozzle of a gun is seen. It takes position
at ninety degrees to his forehead,
a loud bang was the last thing he heard.
I AM ONE MEN
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