by Chris Sharpe
As the sun goes down, the moon and stars arise
and soldiers “stand To” alert for enemy spies
Listening out for contacts from afar
Riflemen prepare to fight where they are
Then the crack and thump of an AK round
and the clatter of men forced to the ground
With a loud shout, “contact front”
all standing to shoulder the oncoming brunt
The calm and composure of their training takes hold
As they all crawl forward into the Earth’s fold
With one movement there’s momentum forwards
And the sergeant screams “now fix your swords”
They all take aim squeezing their triggers
Every round that hits mortally disfigures
Then silence, smoke and sand
Our chosen man lies dying in that far away land
My friend, my brother I can’t make it right
I’m sorry that this time we just lost the fight
And as the sun rises and I feel his deathly ghost
The Bugler stands tall and plays the last post
Christopher Sharpe
MMXVII
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This first appeared in The Havok Journal on September 10, 2019.
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