by James Wainscoat
Man at war with himself, turns on his human brother declaring WAR!
That damnable crucible … caldron of chemistry … called WAR!
On the Battlegrounds … the munitions wizards mix their deadly sulfur stew.
And he enemy’s enemy … lurking, stalking, drunk on the devil’s brew.
Every warrior tested ….
Every longing, every desire …. arrested.
Graves or trenches, the die is cast.
Gray lifeless …… will it pass?
Then the shout, “MOVE OUT! as with dismembered hands, you grasp?
Up! Over the top! Out! Each man’s shadow obeying …….. till the last.
Body alive! Adrenaline rush! ……… Out of body? Another man’s soul?
Ears drummed by the bugle’s call, drowns out the derge’s roll.
Pointman meets the molten metal. ENGAGEMENT! ….. Not defeat.
Combat savvy, he returns fire ……. slumps …. never to regain his feet.
Deep within his sunken chest, in the heart laid to rest, beyond the wound that never mends, irrupts the sound of VICTORY! …… Not doom.
Taking their positions on the field of blood … fallen warriors baptize the ground. At ease with frozen salutes, open palms …. they give their courage, that it may abound.
Then invisible voices explode the deathly silence, courageous warriors spring to defend their fallen comrades and the belligerent FOE …. FEND!