|
My sergeant saw me shaking,
Behind my Vickers gun,
And said, “do it for the King, boy”,
“Do it for your country son”,
“Wait till the enemy are closer,
Then give them, the whole nine yards”,
I didn’t want to do it,
But I said, “don’t worry Serge,
They won’t get by this checkpoint,
Unless the angels take them past”,
And I checked the bullet belt was straight,
And the breech was closed down fast.
Then as those small dots, that were the enemy,
Drew closer and grew bigger,
I felt my finger tremble,
As it pressed against the trigger.
The breech bolt rattled back and forth,
Like the piston of a train,
As the Vickers spat its deadly load,
And sang its murderous refrain.
And a group of men I’d never met,
Went down like cricket stumps,
Amidst a sudden shower of crimson rain,
And mud thrown up in clumps.
Their screams assailed my eardrums,
Above the Vickers noise,
And I thanked the Lord that I was here,
And not out there with those boys.
For I was lying in a foxhole,
With sandbags fore and aft,
While they ran through an open field,
And never stood a chance.
There were fifteen or twenty of them,
There couldn’t be much more,
And I knew it wrong to kill them,
But I had to, this is war.
And if the situation was reversed,
And I’d been in that field,
While they were in this foxhole,
There’s no doubt that I’d be killed.
So when the last of them had fallen,
And the Vickers gun fell quiet,
I lay for several moments,
Still looking down the sights.
For signs of sudden movement,
But none could be detected,
There was just the scene of death and dying,
From where my shots had been directed.
And a whispered foreign language,
Though I knew not what they were saying,
It was clear to all who heard their tone,
That those poor souls were praying.
And still holding the cause of their suffering,
I silently joined them in prayer,
Begging the lord to forgive me,
As I watched them all lying out there.
Regretting this moment in history,
And the deplorable deed I had done,
For the cause of my King and my country,
With the aid of the feared Vickers gun.
By
S.E.Ralph.
20-10-2017
|
from
Kay
You have a way of writing poetry that sends a message as strong as if we were hit by a bat.
And your message is so profound and sad. When the soldier compares himself to "those boys" and finds there is little difference to be fighting for.
Ron
Love ya!
Jane