Sunday, July 7, 2013

Wasted Youth

He spat one last time on his already shiny boots
and continued to polish the hell out of them.
He was a perfectionist down to his roots,
he thought, as he re-adjusted his hat brim.

Today's inspection will be tough
but he was more than ready.
As usual.  He practiced often enough!
He stood up to attention and became very steady.

Satisfied, he marched out onto the parade ground.
He could not hear the expected marching sound.
He quickly looked for his shipmates all around
but there were none to be found.

Where did everyone go, he wondered.
Then, into the Company Commander he blundered.
A look of panic was written across his face
as he continued running as if in a race.

It was only then that he heard the sounds.
Like thunder they were, only getting louder.
He realized it was the sound of gunfire, of rounds
going off full of gun powder.

It seemed that this was not a drill,
so he grabbed his hat by the bill
and ran back into the barracks to change uniforms.
He would go into action properly dressed according to norms!

When ready, he headed outside and was met by nearby explosions.
He felt something hit his chest and a warm oozing feeling.
Suddenly, he saw himself as from above kneeling
in his own blood.  This was beyond any notions
he had of what it would be like.
To be in combat.  To be fighting for his life.

But, he never got the chance to try.
Before he could even get his rifle,
his life ended there before the barracks.
Near his own bloody tracks.
Looking down, he cried and cried
because his shoe had become untied.

How wrong to die without one's boots on.

mindbringer, 6 July 2013