“What’s the spirit of the bayonet!”
“To kill without mercy,”
In a time and a place,
we stabbed at straw filled effigies,
of those we were supposed to hate.
Taught to use weapons of war,
to do what we needed to survive,
by making sure the other did not.
No glory, no marching bands,
no great crowds as we paraded by,
only cold stares from war weary folks.
The years have passed yet I remember,
as I stabbed at those straw figures,
with blood in my eyes, being the hero.
Now I’m an old man filled with regrets,
of a time and place long lost,
of a brotherhood united by war,
trying to once again piece together,
those lost places of the heart.