Pains of the Remembered

Dedicated to those who have fought and/or died in war. R.I.P.

Trampling muddy, shelled ground where clothed lumps lay,

I watch in horror as an explosion, then a picasso of blood

Paints my brother a deep crimson and a pale white.

I strike a cord of sorrow within my heart, and carry on, carry on.

Through the longest night, I trample through on the soft ground,

Thoughtless of my merciless actions that I lay upon others.

My steel contraption that I bear jerks as I shoot a casing;

Another action costing a life of a man fighting on patriotism.

Wish you well, those who die, wish you well, I fear,

That there will be little comfort after death, a painless death

For our actions are murder and our thoughts merciless.

I carry on, I carry on, I carry on, I carry on.

There will be an end, I am so sure of it.

There is an end to everything, maybe not so great.

But I will find a way, to thrive and survive another year

In this hell, which chants of glory and honor through gore.

There will be little comfort, if I expire from my deeds,

Because there is little comfort after death for me.

Author's Note

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