Lisa I. Hilbers
THE PATH TO WAR
Some were going up and some were coming down,
A well trodden path, on a war beaten ground.
Not an inch had they gained for well over a week,
The air full of death, bodies lay cheek to cheek.
While the medics crawled from one to another,
Speaking lies as he went, you’ll be okay, brother.
Moving quickly as he could to escape the look,
The look of death, as the dying trembled and shook.
And rest didn’t come easy hearing the cries in need of relief,
The voices constantly calling, causing mind boggling grief.
A haunting numbness took over his tortured mind,
The gushing color of red, eventually caused him to go blind.
And the anger in his heart began mounting higher and higher,
Until he started to doubt Satan’s eternal fire.
Had he already died and this was his forever call,
To tend to his butchered comrades as he watched them fall?
He never doubted a moment he had landed in hell,
No winged guardian angels, no perfumed smells,
Only fire breathing demons, and enemas of lead,
And a carpet stretched tight weaved from the souls of the dead.
Each step up that hill became harder each day,
For he had forgot about the living, and forgot how to pray.
Medic! Please help me, from a familiar tone,
Then realized the voice was finally his own.
©Copyright February 7, 2003 by Lisa I. Hilbers