Duty
Duty
Charred black, not unlike firewood,
Unmoving, the muck sticky underfoot.
They paint him white in picture books,
A knight, a hero that fights.
The stench of the field is unbearable.
The smell of burned flesh makes him choke.
He's no hero but a soldier.
No real glory, no real honor.
He dies in his own pool of blood in the mud,
His duty, done.
--Tharkny A. Raznic
Charred black, not unlike firewood,
Unmoving, the muck sticky underfoot.
They paint him white in picture books,
A knight, a hero that fights.
The stench of the field is unbearable.
The smell of burned flesh makes him choke.
He's no hero but a soldier.
No real glory, no real honor.
He dies in his own pool of blood in the mud,
His duty, done.
--Tharkny A. Raznic