This Glory

In these floundering fields of gloom he waits

For the moments of death and victory to relish,

Where no man worries about the limbs he lacerates,

And the guilt he carries for those that perish.


For nothing here is known as slaughter,

Just price to be paid for those that matter,

And when he finds himself behind that mortar

You'll know the actions count when they clatter.


Why do I not turn back and go?

He thinks, Is there not better than this?

But when the guns sound and the blood starts to flow,

You'll know it's worth the kindness amiss.


Go forward and into the broad black daylight;

Nothing will stop you from this fight...


Abigail Martin