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In a Soldier's Hand MAG
I sit cold and cruel
in the hand of the enemy
words disintegrate to dust
the harsh dirt below your feet
cries aloud, sodden with the burden you
force me to carry because
I am the enemy,
or so you say.
made to succumb to others’ bidding,
I feel nothing and aim: hitting
while they still look green and plastic, fake
like the toys you used to play with in Grandpa’s
living room, before you realized
the price of carrying your flag
so high.
but go ahead, lift it higher
nobody will notice the bloody footsteps
imprinted across the stripes.
you will only notice your own trail of loss
as I extinguish nights you could have had
beneath a star-studded sky, holding the hand
of a lover,
you formed me from lifeless steel
and carry me to do the work
no one else wants on their hands,
justifying it with common causes and cures
all the while saying I’m evil
I AM
a murderer.
but you know and I know
it is not my will; it is yours.
lay me down now, lay me down.
what are you playing at?
forget the squabble come too far
you must know brutality draws more
and more
until there is nothing else
but lay me down and
you could still have that night,
beneath a star-studded sky, holding the hand
of a lover.
and that person of green and plastic
you see across the barren landscape
lays me down too,
while his mother draws a breath of relief as she
hears his voice on the other end of the telephone,
“It’s over. It’s done. I’m coming home.”
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This article has 35 comments.
FANTASTIC!
keep it up
This is a good piece of writing but leaves the reader breathless in thought. (Thought-Provoking writing)