My Comanding Officer Poem by Luke Preston

Every day I get orders.
Though here I am, Head strong.
Every day the orders are the same.
They are never going to get anything on target, accuracy is alas, a miss.

Yet I am shown borders,
Fighting to prove who is wrong.
Why do I feel I am the one to blame?
My life is but an empty shell, full of this estranged bewilderment.

How fortunate. As myths and past blurs,
Yet we are in constant song.
Now who can say, ! they are to blame? '
Not one lifeless blast, nor idle sharp edge of concience could comprehend.

More orders, and every day we get plenty,
Wrong! of course they are,
Not one noble act could repent such sins as this;
This is what we insinuate and asphyxiate what can only be assumed to be the answer.

Saying goodbye:
bitter-sweet and sorry.
If only to forgive those who
Try and help themselves, yet we neglect those who continue for nothing.

(Imagine this page has torn in two, just like the theme, broken like you.)


This poem is dedicated to my teachers in year 13. The First March 2009, By a Veteran of Nothing. Luke Preston.