from the front lines

from the front lines 

On the celebration home
my troop receives new orders
decreeing: we must return
to the desolate urban hell,
where there is so much blood
soaked into the history of the stones.
 
We depart with a world of heaviness
on our backs, and a world of weariness
on our hearts,
We depart following orders,
marching backwards through the desert.
 
Halfway there, one grunt breaks down,
in the middle of the city he stands up and blubbers:
”i can't go back, i can't go back,
 it's like you're constantly drowning.
 it's like you never get a chance to breathe!
 we're never going to escape!
 we're never going to—“
and before anyone could signal for him to hush
there's a whistle of air, and the grunt goes down.
 
no one talks the rest of the way back,
but everyone is replaying that as a mantra.
and everyone is questioning their motives.
and everyone is weighing their beliefs…
 is it necessary to go back?
 wasn't the reason we came:
 so that we never have to come back?
 isn't there a better answer than
attack and defend?
 
tomorrow we return to our station in hell,
where almost everyone there doesn't want us there.
and tomorrow we return to our duty.
where almost everyone here doesn't want us here.
but don't get me wrong,
tomorrow I will march hard and proud,
I will defend my country with all my heart,
but don't get me wrong,
I will never stop wishing for a better way.

-10-05-06-
M. L. Michael -

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