Colin F. Jones


~ 1 ~

The past lives inside you as the present,
For all your lived life is what you are.
All that you love all you resent,
You have retained from near and far.
We were once soldiers built and fashioned,
Into servants of the gun and blade,
To do things we may have questioned,
Had we not been so afraid.
We killed and killed and kept on killing,
Until all our fear and rage was spent,
The adrenalin rising with increased shelling,
An outstanding, exciting supreme event.
For though tis said that war is hell,
For the combat soldier it is heaven as well.

~ 2 ~

But when our stay in heaven is over,
Tis then that we all visit Hell,
For we shall never feed in clover,
We who fought our foe so well.
For yes the present is the past,
Tis true that tomorrow never comes
The sound inside will always last,
The drum, drum drumming of the drums.
That drum in time with the beating heart,
Like a well drilled set of army boots,
Measured steps on a battle chart,
Of pre destined deaths and artillery shoots.
For yes there was elation in every shell,
But home is where we begin our Hell.