The Casualties of War

So here I sit in Battlefield-Grey

The Rifle warm from the fight of day,

A murder spree on fellow men ,

Who’ll never love or Hope again. 

To fight and hate in foreign fields

And March with pride by duty feel,

Pass littered Corpse unto the Sky;

Their vacant looks as we pass by. 

What Mother could bare to see their Sons

Laid deathly cold by blasted guns,

Decaying in mud and glass of eye,

Or hearing their dying pitying cries.

So if on hill or darkened Wood 

I get my lot received in blood,

Then so be it and damn them all,

The Generals and Lackeys that planned it all.

For I’m not the man that prayed at home 

With love of life and Poetry known,

Now a killer forged by Act of War;

May God forgive and all it’s for.