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The Battlefield Poem
I live upon a Battlefield.
However far I walk,
However far my tear-sore eyes can see,
Nothing moves, save to fall and then lie still.
nothing speaks, save with its final cry of pain.

An enemy I cannot see or understand hurls death into the air -
Death for everything I love, but not for me.
I scream out warning as I see the shells fly overhead -
But no sound can penetrate the air in which my heart has bled, and bled, and bled.

Sometime allies that I came to trust,
I turn my head, turn back,
They are there now, on the other side,
Joining the attack.

But with all the enemy can do, they will never kill me
Although their threat of death is on me every day,
With all the weaponry they hold, they will not make an end of me,
It must be my own poor hands that choke my life away,

Each day, I wake upon the Battlefield and search for signs of life,
Ferrying frantically to and fro along the line,
But every broken corpse is something of what I once was,
And every drop of slathered blood is mine.

Jane Hare