On a dusty hot day in the desert sands
He looks in shock at his hands
Unsure of what just occurred
It all seems like a blur
For first blood he did take
On his first tour that day
A numbness he does feel
As he took his first kill
No training prepared him for this
Something inside now very amiss
Taken from him, torn away
Leaving him cold, full of rising self-hate
But he continues on doing as ordered
To save the weak from those that murder
Never really counting the cost
To himself or comrades, humanity sometimes lost
For he’s been trained to fight for others
Those that have sisters and brothers
The innocent and weak who can’t fend for themselves
From those who put these people through hell
Advertisements
Posted in: Poetry
Eric Alagan
February 16, 2013
You’re right – no training prepares one for that first kill
Darren Greenidge
February 16, 2013
Soldiers get a lot of bad press in my opinion but they go through a lot too from what some have told me, the rest have said inbetween lines. Must be a hard existence doing what they do at times.