Terry D. Sutherland

SOLDIERS OF LESSER FORTUNE

Bereft but boundless in war’s prison made
No bars to hold you; only the gun and the blade
Final hours of torture your honor they trade
Then you dig your own hole with your own spade

No one would blame you if you should break
But your threshold is boundless you’ll never break
Final days and counting your body begins to quake
You go on holding; how much more can you take

Defiant still with hatred in your eyes
You tell your captor it will be him that dies
To your head his pistol then you realize
If you don’t lie for him your fellow soldiers die

One more beating; one more day
Then your captor leaves; but you must stay
What horror next and then you say:
Should I last another day

From your deepest inner soul you will shout
“Kill them all, let Allah sort them out”