Wavering.

My friend is leaving for the army. I try to understand it.

The rhythmic crunching

of boots in time

has always sent an uneasy

shiver through my spine.

Though the odds of me

falling part to a war

are unlikely for the moment,

the effects are noticeable,

most notably of late.

 

The politics and office games

I once could have cared less about.

But now I'm linked to a wartime web

and afraid I'll be dragged down.

 

Perhaps this change, I hope,

will motivate me to stand and speak up,

direct my attention to foreign maps

and to see around the dust clouds.

 

I could never be a soldier.

My mental and flesh state aren't enough

to meet requirements-

but if I could,

if my form allowed me to go,

I still don't think I would.

I'm not sure why,

since I'm no stranger to pain.

And surely I could follow the rules,

if I truly wanted to.

But I've realized that I have to fight of my own control.

No extension of someone's arm

and not knowing why I was there

or what I did.

 

Yes, I think that's it.

Though standing on the sidelines

hundreds of miles away

seems to be worse than

anything a soldier would encounter-

like wavering on the edge of a cliff

in a freefall waiting to happen.

 

I'm in a nightmare

of reality-

far worse than the mind-

oh, a nightmare of war.

 

From which there is no waking.