The Futility of War

The green recruit glanced nervously at the veteran by his side,
He swallowed hard and gripped his sword and wished that he could hide.
His gaze then traveled ‘cross the seething mass that was their foe
The 'enemy' for reasons that the soldier did not know.

He asked the fighter nearest him, "Why is it that we fight?"
She shrugged and said, "Well, I don't know, but we are in the right."
He questioned all the others, but every answer was the same
The young guard soon was puzzled; surely something was to blame!

But now the armies charged and there was no more time to talk
and when the two sides clashed the young lad's face was white as chalk.
The air was filled with screams and cries, the clash of sword on shield,
Soon pools of scarlet splashed across the brown and dusty field.

The fresh recruit did fight and kill as well as any other,
But when attacking one man he was open to another.
A flash of pain; a crimson flower bloomed upon his shirt,
and then the not so green recruit sprawled face-down in the dirt.

He clutched his chest in an attempt to cease the bloody flow,
and wondered at the thought of dying for a cause he did not know.
As he lay there twisted by fierce pain like none before,
A tear slid down his cheek for the futility of war.