|
|
|
Matt Hein / Poetry / Eponymous / | |
| A Reminisce for the soldier. A Reminisce for the soldier. Written 05-12-03 By M. Aaron Hein. Well, I came up with the idea for this poem several weeks ago after reading an interesting, but pointless literary work for an English assessment. Anyhow, the general idea of the poem revolves around the incredible circumstances some soldiers were forced into on foreign soil, and yet, perchance some exaggeration on the soldier’s view of the story? Anyhow, the central title, Eponymous, deals with the theiry that those whom make great sacrifices should be honored, andall others to live in obscurity. Besides spoken words, men must back them with action... we see this beauty of humanity time and time again when conflict arises. God bless. buckshot, rattling, tails and streaks of fire, ricochet, maybe it’s not a fond reccollection, but it remains so vivid to this day let me tell you a story of a deadly game men enjoy to play they call it war, but in such a dog populated world, it erupts nearly every day With a quick glance, a motion and a decisive shot, from the corporal’s command and a pull of a trigger I opened fire on them precisely from the back of their lot, enduring the conflict for hours, sand and dirt untamed I felt my eyes stinging, tired, as though licked by flames, knowing my platoon has nobody but themselves to blame nevertheless, It was myself who was stuck to such a dog like game. no complaints, dissent by itself constituted a punishable crime, I kept my mouth shut, my aim the only viable investment of time. to spy from my scope, the fields, scarred, laced with blood and ash, trees scorched, lifeless, as though set with the impact of man’s imprint no less an earthly rash from beauty itself a terrible detract through the glass of my scope, there they scattered foreign soldiers and mercenaries from their foxholes and mounds, as though dilligent ants, wishing above all means never by my scope to be found their movement sporadic and frantic I had seen them, amongst others at my shot some falling, keeling over dead, whilst others remained crawling, sprawling, to safe havens, battlements along the sides, lined with barbed wire and articles of snide from their advances spraying us with shot, greatly more vitriolic than hail, winter’s rain it shot upon us, sending many of my men to heavenly hands, god’s gain with a stinging sensation, my leg pelted with pain I rolled to the side, hoping to dear god that I was not slain as I opened my eyes, to find myself lying against the grain of glass and broken dreams I found the gun cradled in my arms, my sickness signaling inherent pain It was over now, or so it seemed to me, the clock at my wrist signaling the end of the hour but blood loss beckoning, ungodly I could smell it now, the scent of smoke, and gunpowder wafting from my barrel, its essence bitter and sour, no les sterile better than blood, but no less threatening its scent poisonous to the memories, to the conscience unsettling already the moon risen into the sky, crescent, glowing, perchance signaling a shower, or sweet rain to these fields sowing the clouds swirling about, leather ruffling, foxtails swaying, I waited for the enemy to move, but realized they lay waiting out of range, out of shot, so far yet so dangerously close I couldn’t stand the wait, it was at that moment I chose to dash away from it all, to take this sudden leap of faith it was now or never to escape reality’s harsh and bloody grace maybe not, to wipe the blood of my face to eschew the army, to realize the breach of honor in its own right could be shocking disgrace bullets flying, their trails like streams of fire, shot at me, but only erupted greater ire it was then amongst the muck, my legs grew tired, my arms grew heavy it was over...like an oil leak, I fell to a stop, like a broken truck, ready to retire. maybe not, maybe so, I was a forced maverick to take it all the way or not at all constituted the code in which I would stick. So I dug my feet, puleld the trigger and fired away, at one soldier, then two, and a third from some distance away another shot tearing at me arm, my torso, blood loss nearly carrying me astray, only for the glaring of the horn, the cascading wind and the sound of rotating blades lifted by that guardian angel into the clouds, from proverbial hell wihsked away, thrown into the infirmary to lie, wasting those hours in medical foray take it from me, life’s eponymous remembered for forefathers, and those honorable to grace upon all of us either you live or you die, it doesn’t matter to me but from the view of state’s eye it’s far better to sacrifice to stay free in some cases, death is better then life, but then again, perhaps it’s not but to serve one’s country and proliferate liberation well, that’s a guaranteed strightaway shot. fin... |
|
Primary content in this document is © Matt Hein. All other text, images, or trademarks in this document are the intellectual property of their respective owners. |
| |
©2005 LUGNET. All rights reserved. - hosted by steinbruch.info GbR |