I remember basic training clearly,
months of necessary lies,
and little sleep.
It focused on routine,
repetition till the mind
no longer had the urge to think,
misdirection till the mind forgot
that we were there to learn
to kill and die.
I remember basic training clearly,
the breakdown of the ego
and the purge of moral qualms,
instinct triumphant,
empathy be damned,
march in lock-step
while wearing polished shoes,
with clean nails,
made beds,
folded uniforms,
and the ghosts of soldiers
clapping their hands
and laughing at our trust.
YOU ARE READING
Conscience and Consciousness
PoetryA collection of poetry highlighting the moral choices we face. Who are we? What makes who we are? Are we good and how can we be better? Are we driven by Fate or are we masters of our own destiny?
