A Soldier’s Lament

Courtesy Pinterest

I will not think of home

I have been trained to best not think at all

Least not of the world I leave behind

How still the ship

does sit at anchor

How peaceful the dawn

does break in from the east

I will not look to the flowers

For they are of spring and I am of winter

Yet they call to my heart

Tiny silences of the day unfolding

when soon hell itself will hide

from the thunderous din of war

Perhaps I am mistaken

And some saintly wraith of God’s good hand

will come to save us

But I know well what beckons

It is the hand of death himself

upon the land

Where when all is done

There will once again be silence

And the Devil himself

will stroll among the slain.

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