Within Enemy Lines
The last of the falling dust cascaded to the ground.
Shrieks and screams repeated in my ears.
An outsider would claim it an echo,
I knew it to be the endless line of human torture
As each new bomb took it’s place among the debris,
Tearing apart already torn individuals,
Whose badges had long ago lost their shine,
And whose hearts had learned to distinguish.
Victory could never belong within a sentence.
Speaking of war; where every writer has it wrong.
The crude outline of a man lay nearest me,
Lacking limbs or a voice to moan his pain.
His sightless eyes turned skyward,
Reflecting the fiery ball of a sun that hung above.
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