013. The Damage Of War

I lie on the scarred battle field with bloodied arms and legs listening to the whistling of the shells the explosions rock the ground I see my comrades around me lying unmoving on the mud my feeble cries for help land on deaf ears The sound of whirring wakes me a man in a white over coat moves slowly closer holding out his hand as if at a meeting I wake again along and in a bed the doctor comes in to see me his pale face shows sorrow As I stand alone in the rain by the big stone monument I shed a tear and think how close it was for one of them to be me