We met upon the battlefield, Our homelands at our backs, He shot at me, and I at him, And killed him in his tracks. He was of course, not the first man, Whose blood was ever spilled, But was the first in my life span, That I had ever killed. I killed him in the name of war, Before he could even think, Had we but met in a bar before, Perhaps we would share a drink. If the situation were reversed, I thought what then might be, If he were me, what'd he do first? If that dead man were me. So I knelt down and said a prayer, Wondering who was his kin, Yes, that, and if fate's ever fair, And then, I shoveled him in. A bomb burst, my prayers went unheard, I was hit by a shell and then, I uttered these my final words, Let it never happen again. I admit that I was wrong, For by what men call war, Men die by the most sullen throng, All in the name of war. 1980
Reason for writing:
None given
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View more poems by Lawrence J. Henriques, the Snowman.