Bent over from the weight of 80 pounds, dead-legged.
Coughing like water deprived camels,
Trudging forwards, on and on.
Marching male zombies, injured feet limping onwards,
Bloodshot eyes desperately searching for shade.
Head spinning with the speed of propellers.
The sudden hissing of RPG’s…
Cover! Lads, Cover!
Diving for anywhere to hide,
Rifles raised.
Some of the men fumbling on the safety switch,
Battling with bullet chambers, swivelling barrels.
The landscape erupting explosions,
Spitting bodies.
Soldiers to the left blasted off their feet,
Body-limbs falling to the ground with deadening thumps -
Echoing every soldiers mind during sleep.
Sky-speed, adrenaline-high.
Living energy, strength, power, fury.
Every bullet that shreds through the sky whistling, tearing
Bone apart torn limb from limb, torn.
A screaming man - legless- pulls himself from a bloody mass.
His fingernails scarping towards us through the mud:
Lungs about to burst.
And if you could imagine the agonising hours,
waiting for the support team of medics.
Visible only see the white of his eyes,
mouth unable to control the gurgling of blood
erupting lava from his chest.
The pungent smell of the tattered remains of his legs
sizzling in the heat of the desert.
So would you now send our nations hooded young
Away to the desert?
Where the high zest of children ardent for some desperate glory…
Lie.
Dulce…
Et…
Decorum…
Est…
Pro…
Patria…
Mori…
No comments:
Post a Comment