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Cancer
A War Poem

Your boots stand in the corner,
where you left them bogged in mud.
Negotiating the trench-lines is a deadly business,
and some days you believe the enemy has infiltrated
too deeply to repel. Reinforcements are few and
far between, and even now the ammunition supply
dwindles a little less.

Each sunset hesitates just a little longer beyond the horizon.
At night you dream of bomb-crater reunions and an army
of lost boys returning home for the first time since the world changed.

Reality is crueler still, and you reflect on this
over stale biscuits and cold tea as you prepare
for the final onslaught.

What are we fighting for what are we fighting for?
It's hard to remember, ankle deep in death.

This last one will be your loneliest.


Yet another random piece floating around my desktop. Written Anzac Day 2008:
Lest we forget