War Poetry

Before the battle has started
There's worry and planning and plots
All those careful calculations
Of how to lessen the loss
But the people are only numbers
Counted out on a parchment sheet
All carefully thought of and plotted
Foot soldiers, cavalry, fleet.

Then, when the battle has started
No matter how careful you plan
Each soldier is on his own there
All battles are man to man
The soldiers have ceased to be numbers
They're persons, like you and I
And the battlelust, it grips me
Adrenalin running high.

Alone in the midst of battle
I laugh - and the world is mine
To deal with as I see fitting
Intoxicating as wine
And I hear the sounds around me
The grating of sword on shield
Half muffled oaths and deathcries
And cries to the foe to yield.

I laugh in the midst of battle
I'm young and carefree again
And I lead my troops to victory
Sword red with the blood of men
My fighting skills are what I live for
My honor, my love and my life
Is what I hold sacred and swear by
My sword, my shield and my knife.

But when the battle has ended
How horrid and empty I feel
The stench of spilled blood in my nostrils
Each fallen is all too real
With empty eyes I look 'round me
See friends who will never more rise
Dry my sword on a fallen foe's jacket
And leave - with tears in my eyes.

Before the battle it's worry
In battle my feelings run high
But when everything is over
Did we fight each other for lies?
Did a world rise and fall with us
When with bitter death each field we've sown?
Each fallen is one too many
Each death I mourn as my own

I'll never get used to the killing
Or the feelings after the fight
When the blood-stains are fresh on my jacket
I see things in a different light
Am I wrong to find joy in battle?
To be proud of my fighting skills?
Has warfare any true meaning?
Is all I accomplish - kills?

What is the meaning of fighting?
Can war really change anything?
Does all those deaths have any meaning?
Is it true what the singers sing?
Did anything really matter
When the fields were coloured red?
Will the people here get it better?
Or was it futile, the blood we shed?

But later I smile and forget it
Sometimes we'll all have to fight
To be true to what we believe in
To strive for what we think is right
When you love, you have to be trusting
When you fight, trust in your own sword
It's you - and never another -
Who'll live with the deed afterwards.

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