Anthony W. Pahl

(A Soliloquy)

sitting here with screen flickering slightly
reminds me of tracers streaming brightly
across the blackness of the night
telling of another fight
and whistling bullets only heard
if a life was to be spared
amidst the thumping mortar shells
designing death in midst of hell
and ears ringing with the noise
of beating hearts only paused
if alive or dead who knows or cares
with each confined to his own prayers
for life and God’s voice barely heard
among the wounded and the scared
until a hand reaches out to grip
our hand as into hell we slip
and he is there our mate and friend
so then we know it’s not the end
because we have much more to do
back in the world that we once knew
returning in the freedom bird
to the world with soothing comfort shared
but it’s not the same where we are from
where the love of country seems to be gone
and all there is is hate and scorn
creating heart-aches to be borne
so why have we been to hell and back
when no-one cares much bout that
except that now all have blood
on minds and hands and lack of love
means we can never proudly stand
erect before the eyes of man
until we’ve fought for thirty years
to get some help with all our fears
and seen some people understand
the horrors in our own free land