The Long March from the Gallows The blood stained soldier unclips the strap from his mud covered steel helmet, And he places it on the butt end of his semi automatic rifle which he has driven firmly into the rubble beneath his feet. The battalion he has to meet, About a half hours trudge down the unstable street, His canteen empty, his hat, un neat, Blisters now a callus upon his unwashed feet. Ghosts from the parents of the children lost, Rise up from the rocks and the blood tarnished moss, A life taken, for such little cost, Like an arrow pierced armour shot from a bow and cross He turns away from the battalion, And marches in solitude, hearkening his stallion, Thoughts of home, the distance from a red medallion, Of grazing cattle, and sheep, far from the homes of the Italian. What am I doing here? He asks with a sneer, My orders arent exactly clear, Its been over a year, Ive grown fond of my beard, I stand alone in a field, With bodies to be cleared. Can you hear the beat of the drum? Da dum, da dum, da dum My trigger finger locked into a hook, As it lies 90 degrees from my swollen thumb, Can you hear the beats of the drum? Da dum, da dum, da dum, Its been longer than I know since I read my last book, By this time I certainly feel dumb. A shower begins and it soaks into my clothes, Pattering down, dripping from the end of my nose, Who knows? Who knows? The peasants crow, When the fields again will be ready to sow. Barley, Wheat and maybe some sheep, Thousands of lives we have helped deplete, Mangling hard foundations of concrete, That masters had crafted, while building the streets, Weve left survivors with nothing to eat, And vultures peck at their mud covered feet. Far down the street where the church bells drone, Flows an estuary of tears from the mothers of sons who wont come home, With spit on my face, I feel alone Dried up tears will not bring them home I passed the alley of mortar shells, And realised that there is worse than hell, A severed head with a story to tell, Of a baby boy whos life had fell. Can you hear the beat of the drums? Da dum, da dum, da dum The mariachi song i still hum Nestled in between my swollen thumb, I dropped my webbing and began to run, Run far away from this land Ive come. When I look back, I go insane, No words or tears can ease the pain, The lives of innocents that I have slain, Just so I can live another day. Can you hear the beat of the drum? Da dum, Da dum, Da dum. I cannot run any more. Spacehound 31/10/2014
Posted on: Fri, 31 Oct 2014 08:28:37 +0000
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