Return to the Battlefield



I'm a soldier back on the battlefield today

As I rub my fingers together

I feel the callouses from my weapon

That carried me so far, gave me a name

Because that's all I am here, a name

The myraid of soldiers on this dismal field

Are all fighting, competing for themselves

Some hope for the king's attention or personal glory

Others for a promotion, others for death

Some are here for bloodshed, others because they were drafted

Nonetheless, everyone is here, fighting in someway

Some are only fighting being here

But for all

This day, this time of year, is a horrible one indeed

Veterans no longer understand, and the very young cannot comprehend

That wars, no matter how small or ephemeral, are bloody

And not one soldier leaves the field with a pristine uniform

Even those who trudge idly among the carnage

See the tiredness in the eyes of those who fought hardest

And no one misses the extra wrinkle on the commander's forehead

When the soldier he chastised about a million times

Is lying dead below him, a cocky, carefree grin still etched upon his face

A rebel with no cause whom he couldn't persuade nor coerce to follow orders

All I am here is a name in the highest unit, among those who fight hard

But that's all we are here, commended soldiers to be molded then used

We are the ones who throw our godforsaken souls into the battle

And what we get in return is the "privilege" to join bigger wars for free

And we go, and we fight, because hey, wars are expensive

The time of peace prior to this dawn of wartime

Was hardly a pleasant time for any of us

The weapon you use in the combat zone, after all

Feels heaviest throughout this time both in your hand and on your mind

Forgive us if it is difficult to return here, I think

As I sharpen my weapon to start the training semester

Forgive us if we have no energy to hide our exhaustion, our contempt

Our hatred for these grounds and the knowledge there is worse to come

We're forced for so long to think about future clashes

That although we are not directly prevented from being carefree

We feel the oppressive hand of responsibilty weighing us down

Keeping us from enjoying whatever shred of youth we might still have

Each time we come back we are reminded that later on

There won't be excuses for mistakes and blunders

But they lie, there are no excuses here

The act of showing up year after year is punishment enough

But alas, who could expect war itself to understand this

Much less the lackeys who inflict this torment on us

The start of this year holds nothing new for us

We know of warfare, we know what's coming

This return is nothing more

Than the beginnng of a recurring nightmare



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