Ah the life of a louse

The stench of the rotting bodies can be smelt for miles, as the flesh from the youth that litter the field decay into the supple earth below me. As I look at all the death that surrounds me I realize what exactly these men have done. They have traded their last sunrise for a front row seat to see the machineguns blaze. They will never again hear the cry of a baby, only the moans that go unanswered from a comrade that lies beside them, struggling for fresh air among the mustard gas. They have given up their families their past life’s they have thrown away with yesterday’s trash. A welcoming hug from a mother has replaced itself with another drag of a cigarette and the steady cock of a gun as they pull the trigger. 1

I do not understand. These men, these boys, come from all around the world just to charge, fall and die upon land no man wants to claim as their own. And for what? For honor? For glory? The bodies that fall upon this blood stained field do so in vain. These people could have done something, could have changed something they could at least…had a chance to grow up. But no, war does not stop to listen to the mute souls of soldiers, especially not this war, not when the whole world is busy fighting it. 2

I have seen them fight. They crawl in holes no larger than the rats that dwell in them. Their dead fall dirtying the water supply without a single thought. They step over rotting bodies without holding their breath because the smell has grown on them. This is their home now. The bend around the corner is where they sleep, the ledge here, is where they sit to talk or to read letters from their loved ones that come from an outside world so far from this battle field, this hell hole. When the sky is not plagued from enemy shellfire they sit and wonder, think ‘maybe tomorrow will be worth it, maybe we will gain ground then, maybe my brother did not die in vain today but died for hope of tomorrow.’ But tomorrow things will not be different. No land with change hands only lives will fall upon them. Nightmares intertwine with reality as the lush landscape falls under the weight of hate from brothers. And to think this could all be avoided, to think this could all be changed erased.3

I have seen men speak in tongues to their lord. I have seen men’s arms rise up towards the heavens in attempt to surrender only to be shot down. I have seen men beg for a quick death to come a take them before I do. I have killed men, many men. Those who have left their lives and welcomed me with what seems like open arms. I have made them weak, contaminated them. Ah the life of a louse.                4