Waste

The Great War

I lost a great deal in that war,

we all did,

we lost friends and

neighbors,

homes and wealth,

family members,

possessions,

we lost everything,

yet because we lived

we lost nothing,

I sometimes wonder

who the lucky

ones were;

those who perished or

those who survived;

no one could say

how it began,

like most wars it had

no beginning or end,

it simply came and

went,

like measles,

or smallpox,

or the flu,

when it was over

those who were left

simply picked up the pieces

and started over\

again;

there was very little choice

otherwise;

they said it was the war

to end all wars,

just like all the wars

before it,

no one really cared one

way or the other,

the time for caring

had long since come

and gone,

now there was simply

living or dying,

breathing or not breathing,

seeing or not seeing,

surviving or perishing;

a world of our own creation,

a nightmare of our own doing.

Collateral

I held her in my arms

as the life slipped out of her

small, frail body,

she couldn't have been more

than 7 or 8 I thought,

as I looked into her cold,

lifeless eyes,

staring blankly into the clouds

up above,

only moments before

the roar of the jet  had filled

the afternoon sky,

then a blinding light followed

by deafening sound;

then silence;

now this child

lay broken and torn

in my bloody arms,

I had seen her in the

neighborhood before,

always laughing,

always smiling,

beautiful;

innocent;

later the news would

say the attack was a

coordinated effort

by government forces,

dropping a laser-guided smart bomb

on a known terrorist safe-house,

killing 15 with only minor

collateral damage and loss

of life;

all-in-all a pretty good

day for the 'good guys'.

Tukarov

Tukarov was dead,

it seemed like only yesterday

we had danced at his wedding,

now his body lay quiet,

face down in the mud,

a gaping hole where

his chest had once been,

ripped apart by a 50 caliber shell

from a sniper’s gun;

I wondered if he had felt anything

as the bullet ripped through

his flesh,

tearing out pieces of his lungs

with it,

it couldn't have been much

I thought,

he was dead before

he even hit the ground,

perhaps it was better this

way,

only a few months earlier

he had lost Ulena

in an air strike,

after that he had never

been the same;

“we must do something,

we must fight back,

we must not die like

sheep”;

he had insisted,

convincing me to

join the ‘cause’ with him,

now I could not

remember what

the ‘cause’ was,

only that I was cold

and afraid,

as I sat with the rest

of our patrol,

listening to our commander

brief us on tomorrow’s

raid,

wondering when this

nightmare would ever end;

Tukarov was dead,

long live Tukarov.

Spared

quietly we waited for the dawn attack,

silently hiding within the refuge of the

dark, lonely night,

sleep was impossible as we tried

to hang on to every minute,

every second,

knowing they would likely be

our last,

on the other side

the enemy waited also,

just as afraid,

just as unsure,

soon it would be us or them,

kill or be killed,

for most this would be the

last day on earth;

many openly wept,

remembering mothers and fathers,

sisters and wives,

brothers and children,

I saw the face of my wife

as she had looked before

the war,

before the madness,

before the chaos,

before the hatred,

sweet and serene,

I was glad she had died

early,

being spared the emptiness

of what we had now become,

the monsters we had all been

reduced to,

capable of any cruelty,

living only for death and revenge,

reflections of what had

once been human;

I was glad she had been spared.

Sunrise

there was mostly silence now,

broken only by an occasional

scream or moan,

flashes of far-off cannon fire

lit up the distant horizon,

an eerie reverence permeated

the air,

we rested slumped against

one another,

staring blankly into the early

morning sky,

only hours before it was insanity,

unimaginable horror,

a great tidal wave of madness

and fury,

everywhere,

bodies locked together in death,

covered in blood,

covered in guts,

everything a weapon,

broken guns,

bayonets,

rocks,

fists,

fingernails;

in the end it had

come down to teeth;

the sun was beginning to rise,

steam rolled off the sea

of carnage that lay

before us,

our nostrils saturated

with the stench of rotten flesh;

it was sacred,

almost holy.

Gas

then came the gas,

silent and deadly,

just a soft whump here

or a thump there,

followed by

swiftly rolling fog,

at first we weren’t even sure

what was happening,

many started dropping

before the thought

of donning a mask could

even be thought;

it seemed like such an ironic,

and cruel twist

of fate,

to have come so far,

only to be destroyed by

such a thing

as this;

everywhere men lay choking,

gasping for breath,

their faces twisted in deadly

agony,

those who managed

to put on their masks

powerless to help,

the burning of skin

hardly noticed by the joy

of protected lungs and

internal organs

from this slow and

evil death;

I thought of Tukarov,

I thought of my wife,

I thought of innocent little girls,

lying cold and limp in my

trembling arms,

I thought;

such a waste,

such an incredible,

stupid waste;

who has won?

who has lost?

all I could do

was cry.

.

.