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A Soldiers Tale

By: steven cooke

Page 1, A journey into the First World War. To be constantly bombed is something that thankfully we should never experience.

The trembled hand

the twitching face.

A desperate draw on cigarette

looking for courage in a cordite breath.

.

 Huddled in mud protected by

slime filled walls,

these walls of Jericho shake

crumbling into my fear.

.

 My tomb beckons another inspection.

Buried alive under corrupted soil,

a land lords greeting from the

putrid remains of the tenants before.

Did Mother give birth to me for this?

.

 The screams of the howitzer,

Marching in footsteps, stamping it’s wrath,

for fear of the dead rising.

And we who are alive, that dare to look

will see the face of death that hides within it’s light.

. 

A face I would gladly see,

if bargain I could contemplate

in exchange for silence,

and the solitude of darkness.

Where fear cannot go,

where the cold become’s a welcome blanket

for I wish this suffering to end

.

 To hear the guns, all seeking me

to shred my guts with shrapnel scythe

and amputations rip.

To die with blood soaked ears

punctured into silence for man’s aggression.

. 

This man placed here by another’s ambition

to pay the price for no man’s land,

The only thing that is really free,

for dead men will not stop you

from taking a soldier’s walk.

.

 Another draw on my cigarette,

and a prayer from my anonymous conscience,

trembles upon humanities lips.

“Gives us this day our daily bread

Though I do not forgive them

For thine is the Kingdom

And men will destroy thy glory

Forever and ever

Amen.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Copyright 2014steven cooke All rights reserved. steven cooke has granted theNextBigWriter, LLC non-exclusive rights to display this work on Booksie.com.

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