Strangers With A Smile

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic


In the fog of war so many have their heads clouded. It gets hard to tell the difference between friend and foe, even when both wear the same uniform.

Submitted: July 06, 2018

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Submitted: July 06, 2018

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They say all is fair in order to win the fight,

 

Even if it means attrocities black as night,

 

Men who started out as a stranger's friend,

 

Now consumed by the urge to tear and rend,

 

It's what was desired by command,

 

But they overplayed their hand,

 

Now stuck in a virtueless pit,

 

The army's morals roast silently over a spit,

 

Blackening under the fires of war,

 

The most gentle of men now want more,

 

Here in these frozen wastes,

 

I've seen  comrades pummel others into a frothy paste,

 

Just for rage's sake,

 

As a primal violence is now awake,

 

The longer the dread,

 

The more I can see who shouldn't be dead,

 

The brutality of brothers in arms,

 

Just means they will just put me in danger or way of harm,

 

Even though we both wear the iron cross,

 

It seems all I feel is now just loss,

 

A certain steady sorrow,

 

That there might not be a tommorow,

 

When men are fueled by bloodlust,

 

Friends I used to trust,

 

Now give me an empty smile,

 

As they stack their victims in a pile,

 

What happened to them?

 

Men who now kill at a whim,

 

They now eagerly  eye comrades when war isnt' enough,

 

To resist the urge only grows more tough,

 

An unusual amount of officers are being fragged,

 

Coming home unkown in a body bag,

 

We all know its the hidden rage,

 

The little demon begging to engage,

 

Friendly fire seems to be on the rise,

 

It seems anything now flies,

 

Uniforms no longer separate enemey from ally,

 

From your own squad they will surely cause you to die,

 

Strangers make up this army more than ever,

 

Turning on each other quick as a pull of a lever,

 

What can I say?

 

It wasn't always this way,

 

I just wish to return to my home,

 

Instead I may end up as another count in the mortician's black tome


© Copyright 2018 The Palest Rider. All rights reserved.

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