The dogs of war are out for blood in search of easy prey in the trench a fledgling soldier wills his fear away the looming threat of death embeds a knife of terror deep into the fledgling soldier's heart who's trying not to weep A second's thought of his dear mother flits across his mind her peaceful, loving ways a distant dream too far behind Will he make it home or even make it through this day? Without an answer or a choice, he drives those thoughts away They're closer now, he hears them crunching stone beneath their boots the fledgling takes position, cocks his weapon, poised to shoot stench of danger permeates, his nostrils widely flare like his reddened eyes with drying tears no soul will share Battle cries are deafening, his foe comes into sight a pair of eyes materialise before him, wide in fright too close to free a bullet so he draws a vicious knife a second to decide who gets a second chance at life Screaming he deploys the blade into another heart piercing skin and bone all sense of reason blown apart what choice could he make except to kill or else be killed? Even if it means the blood of innocence is spilled He kneels beside the body of his fallen enemy gently closes eyelids, signs the cross, but doesn't see a bayonet, so stealthy, from behind now makes its mark he's plunging downward, senses fading, all is growing dark There beside his victim lifeblood soaking hardened land he reaches out for comfort from a cold and dying hand Those still fighting do not see this joining of each son who fought in life as enemies, in death becoming one -00- Miles across the ocean washed in silver by the moon a grieving mother sits beside the window of his room against her breast she holds a photograph of him at three and from this day, to her, that is the age he'll always be |