No name but a number lit up a cigarette
His gun much lighter, hands shaking from the kickback
There was no time for contemplation or regret
He had to go on; his orders weren’t to fallback
His hipflask was empty, a new enemy was nerve
Intruding on his thoughts – beading sweat upon his face
Stripped from his vocabulary was love, joy and verve
He had to be stronger, brutality has its grace
He turned to face a number, one which had no name
Who issued the command, ‘let us charge my brother’
‘For the sake of duty, not for the gold nor fame’
As pain tore his body, his mind sought out his mother
No name but a number now lies on blood blemished ground
He wishes for his hip flask, breathing is such a strain
A bullet through his torso, grenade shrapnel as a crown
Begging for more morphine, till death can ease his pain
© Copyright 2016 CRoberts . All rights reserved.
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