island of my imprisonment
you ache so much that you should be scarred by war
tortured deep within your green fields
raped by men with parachutes
upon the open plain
men crawl out from your wounds
like maggots from Job’s sores
preparing for death
with their guns before them
rigid with naked fear and disillusionment
acting as a fleshy shield
to prevent the enemy bullet
from harming the second rank
nobody knows the trouble you’ve seen
the blood and bones you’ve been force-fed
the tin hats returning to their primal home
in this war there are only losers
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