The Endlessness of Dread
The waves seemed to calm me as we marched along the coast.
Mud soaked boots, heavy loaded guns, the cry of a distant bird.
The metallic smell wafts through the air like a ghost.
We walked for miles, even though we knew not what was ahead.
The sand seemed endless, the sea along with it.
It's endlessness, comforted my dread.
Why?
Fear of what was, has come, and is to be.
My life flashes before me in unclear rounds of bullets and flames.
My fellow boys shake in their boots, longing to be free of being men.
Free from the war that has haunted us all.
To the sea that consumed my thoughts,
Why does your endlessness comfort my dread?
It comforts me, because it is not I,
who add to that endless number of dead.
YOU ARE READING
Honey Drops and Pen Stains
Thơ caTravesty, overcome by little else but life's muses; It's jokes. All of this is my original poetry, please do not steal
