In rows they stand, just shadows, just shapes,
I guard them in silence, preventing escape.
They're faceless and nameless, there to obey,
But something inside me feels wrong each day.
The orders are clear—keep lines, keep peace,
Yet unease grows louder, and it doesn't seem to cease.
In dreams, I see scared faces, pleading eyes in the night,
I close them, forget them, but they still feel right.
All I see are starved stripes, skinny children, tired eyes,
Defeated postures, abandoned treasures and pure, pure fright.
Are these really the people I must protect the world from?
What am I not being told? Why do I really carry this gun?
We're told it's our duty, that there's a world to defend!
But why does my heart start to hurt, start to bend?
My hand holds the gun, my stance strong and straight,
Yet something within me hesitates at the gate.
A shot rings out, I'm shocked at the sound,
But it was me, I killed him, and silence surrounds,
It was an order, that sound, it can be justified!
But that doesn't change the fact, that at my hands, he died...
I wonder, I worry—what history will say,
That I fought for a cause or lost my own way?
These shadows grow heavier; I'm losing control,
Each starved shape before me—just another taken soul...
YOU ARE READING
To Live is to Die
PoetryI find war a fascinating topic-so broad yet so focused, filled with so many emotions and endless stories to explore. Sadness has its own kind of beauty, and that's what I wanted to capture here. To Live is to Die is my way of remembering the lives s...
