Michael Edwards

A GRAIN OF SAND

 

A GRAIN OF SAND

 

Wind born sand in barren landscapes.

Rusty red but little shelter

in the hut where he was born.

                                                                                                           

The toddler played with guns of wood

where thirst and hunger both prevailed.

His early childhood soon foregone.

 

And as he grew he never tired

of tales told of battles fought,

imposing on his fertile mind.

 

And when the khaki jeep slowed down

his brown eyes opened shiny wide,

and on he jumped with keen embrace.

 

Remote and bleak the training ground

where fostered skills gave birth to anger

aimed at non existent foes.

 

And then to join the fighting cause

yet still a boy he died in vain,

before his chin had seen a blade.

 

Michael Edwards© May 2015