This week’s poem, called The Soldier, is by Jon Meehan.
When am I going home that’s all I want to know?
This war drags on and on and for what I am not sure that I know.
An enemy I do not know and his reasons for this fight I don’t know.
I am not sure that the Politicians even know the reason.
Gunfire cracks in sporadic burst the artillery shells whistle over head the heat of the sun beating down the ground parched and littered with burnt out vehicles, houses in ruins.
Day after day in this barren place neither side in this pointless conflict is going anywhere, the dust everywhere, just staring out across this empty space wondering will it ever end.
Again the silence broken by the crack of gun fire people screaming, shouting out and the boom of the artillery for how long this time, who knows.
Suddenly it all goes very dark and a sharp pain fills my body, now in the distance a shining figure surrounded by light.
At last I think I am going home.
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