My Enemy

I felt a numbness after the event:

A single shot, and this was just a boy,

Barely out of school. He lay, open-mouthed,

And I thought of his family and friends,

His teenage passions, posters on the wall,

His portrait of pride, hanging in the hall.

Suddenly, my mates were surrounding me -

We had blown a hole in enemy lines -

Slapping my back, but I was now alone.

One may argue all’s fair in love and war,

But was this fair? He was the invader:

Yes, I had the right, but, no, that’s not it.

It could have been me stretched out on the ground,

Feeling nothing. Why do I feel nothing?


◄ Anger Management

Day 82 ►


Profile image

Stephen Gospage

Sat 14th May 2022 22:49

Thank you, John. And thanks to Holden, Stephen, Nigel, Rudyard and K Lynn.

Profile image

John Botterill

Sat 14th May 2022 19:15

A haunting poem, Stephen. Truthful but stark. Great poem.

Profile image

Stephen Gospage

Fri 13th May 2022 21:35

Thank you so much, Greg. Yes, war is in the end a pity and a waste. Some wars have to be fought, but at the 'sharp end' there are no winners, only damaged survivors. Thanks again.

Profile image

Greg Freeman

Fri 13th May 2022 21:29

Powerful as ever, Steve, and full of the pity of war. You are producing something remarkable here.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message