A Soldier

A Soldier

M. Boyle 5P

He crouches behind a mound of earth,
Inwardly rueing the day of his birth;
For his coat is bloody and his buttons don't shine,
He's waiting for someone to give him a sign.
The sign to awaken, the right to slay,
To kill without honour, the Devil to pay;
But what does he care for honour and pride?
And does it make a difference with God on his side?
Are men to live to be pawns in the wars?
Killing their brothers, not knowing the cause;
So why should he leave his place in the dirt?
Stand up and fight, risk getting hurt?
He crouches and waits, his muscles are taut,
His brain is so weak it can't think him a thought.
Then unconscious he rises, endeavours to stand,
He marches, like clockwork, with weapon in hand -
He kills by the dozen, but what does he care?
He has not a feeling as deep as 'despair';
For his feelings are altered, his actions controlled,
He's only a soldier and he does what he's told.