The Truth Of War
Staggering in the battle-torn wasteland as if blind,
Air ripping through torn lungs.
Acrid smoke scalding our throats.
Black icy mud plasters our bodies,
Drying, cracking, splitting as joints grind in sockets.
The blood doing the same on our faces.
Gratefully turning from the rattle of gunfire,
We start to shuffle back to safety.
Relief and guilt overwhelm us.
Still walking,
Muscles stretch to breaking point.
Shallow, ragged gasps erupt from worn mouths.
Even as the gas bombs drop behind us, we are deaf.
I see them as if in a dream,
A deep hiss,
The dream is real.
Barking a warning,
We fumble with masks,
Ram them over our heads.
Breathe in deep breaths.
One man stands,
Gas mask clutched tight in trembling fingers.
Choking, gasping, drowning, dying.
Mask thuds to the ground,
Twitching body joins it seconds later.
All happens in a haze, vision obscured by the green cloud.
Gargling noises bubble from the man's torn lips.
He screams as we fling him in the wagon.
Liquid rises in his lungs.
You imagine what it was like,
Put yourself in my position.
Your friend dying, screaming in front of you.
Twisting, writhing in pain.
Anger twists your insides like a knot,
Gnawing at your heart.
Hate seeps out of every pore of my body,
Emerges in a giant scream of despair.
And they say,
Those liars,
It is glorious to die for your country.
Is it glorious to spend a whole hour in agony?
One hour to die.
One hour screaming.
One hour of hell.
Message Posted By: By Adam Brooks
Date Posted: 10-12-2005
