I remember…
The good old glory days,
and the autumns we spent in Utopia
when the golden skylarks soared the skies,
and the dawns looked down with an empty horizon…

I remember the soft cool touch of July,
and the fiery furnace of Summer;
the silent song of the sentinel trees,
and the cracked-up earth of heaven

The wounds of memory only go as far as the mind allows…

But the drums have lost their power.

We crouch deep down in the mud,
and we wait for an ending.
The icy cold crawls though our skin,
and consumes us
like a spreading disease,
Until cold and pain become the same thing,
and we ourselves become nothing more than pain.

And so we crouch deep down in the mud,
we shiver,

and we wait

The general cloaks himself
in a stature of bravado,
“Courage!” He yells,
But with fear that withers his voice
and eyes that dilate like white-crescent moons

we wait,
and listen,
to the demented drone
of gunfire,
and the meaningless explosions
that drowned out the cries of countless brothers

All of us knew the truth,
it would be our turn next
The war would end
but only for us.
Only for the soldiers.

The battle can never end unless it first begins…

Just before dawn breaks out,
the order comes like lightning,
a husky voice-
ringing across the wasteland
wearily we get up in a nightmarish daze,
and we answer the echo
instinctively,
automatically.

climbing the dirt-ragged trench,
the ferocious insects of lead
rain in our direction.
but no, we won’t cry,
Nature might grab hold of us;
and we might loose our worthless honour…

How strange, the eagle’s flight!
enlightening the bright blue lights
 of the empty sky…

Giving a futile yell,
we run forwards in desperation.
The bullets smash into us
like a horde of merciless demons,
bullets that strip away our flesh and mind.
bullets that strip away our being,
our identity.

Yet we continue to run forwards
because there is nothing left for us to do;
because there is no reason left to stop.
we run, not from the enemy, but from ourselves

At last, we come to rest
on the blood-drenched turf.
we lie on our backs
and realise that there is no glory at all

Finally, the tears come.
We fall down on our knees,
crying our mothers names;
the bullets have stripped away everything,
reducing us
to nothing more than scared boys

Faces become blurs,
Memories become voices.
It does not matter who you are out here,
beggar or billionaire,
your life shrivels into dust.

oh yes, on the battlefield,
all men are created equal

Yesterday,
we saw the sun for the last time,
as it vanished over the horizon,
and the dusty evening kissed us goodbye.
Yesterday,
we forgot the sound of laughter
or the silence of a whisper
Yesterday,
we were normal men

At last, one final call
from the bugle
a sound
that eats into our souls.

Then a single gunshot
Sudden silence
Empty room
Uttermost darkness
voices to be heard

nevermore

How strange, the eagles cry!
The night sky flies before our eyes
to disappear
forevermore…