Soldier, The Weary
by Jonathan Quince
Sunday, May 8, 2005 10:11:19
O soldier, when for now the battle-days are done; when victory and defeat are drawn crystal clear, and bells toll loud in the hearts of ev’ry nation; when at last, such long last, you lay down your rifle for a moment’s rest and sheathe the sword of your heart — what finds you now retrospecting, in memory of time and life sacrificed?
Of endless war, days and months that meld into years, harshness and hardship as you, the machine, must to rise yet again and continue the ceaseless march;
Of the dead and the dying, blood and screams rising over the cacophonous stench of tank-fire, gun and grenade and mortar raining Hell upon the sweet soft flesh that beckons seductively unto Death on the battlefield;
Of love, lust, adoration recalled, with the vision of sweet eyes and sweet arms left behind to faraway lands and shores, sensual needs forsworn ’til fighting’s end, longing wrought long ’til the wish that steels the heart each grey morn is for but the chance of a reunion’s kiss;
Of moments stolen, snatched from the jaws of the meat-grinding historical machine; of pleasures taken in the arms of she, the whore, the paramour, the admiring girl who renews the man of steel with sustenance for the body and bread for the spirit;
Of acrid days and deep-black nights, on the move, on the run, in the camp, in the field, o’er mountain and plain, river and ocean — with always the scents of unwashed sweat, of fear and of determination, of hot blood spilt steaming on the frosty ground and of shattered flesh, of shit expelled in death-wracked convulsions, of smoke and fire and the ensanguined now-certain knowledge that yes, this is War…
Soldier, the Weary — and Soldier, the Brave; Soldier who hath endured o’er hardships unspeakable, under fire and through pain, whose fallen fellows now litter the battlefield in the aftermath of the harshest storm man-made; Soldier who sheds not a tear, but who cries deeply in his heart always, knowing that soon yet, in any day, may come the final accounting; do you walk in your sleep, do you rise when you weep, do you yearn for the day when powers reconcile and, all such Earthly Hell past but never forgotten, there reigns at last peace?
It has now been 21,923 days since V-E Day on May 8, 1945. That’s sixty years. The Soldier walks again and again, never having had his rest.