A Uniform Torn Poem by Thomas C. Hudson

The man in the suit, sitting at his desk, wearing fragrant cologne and making phone calls, decided that I should be here.
I am on my stomach in a ditch, in the sand, a M16 in my hand, thousands of miles away from those that to my heart are dear.

I didn't sign up for this, for me it was about defending my country, not putting my life on the line to satisfy a man's greed and envy.

This war, a war I did not create nor do I understand, a war killing the innocent. How will I live with the blood that has permanently stained my hand?

I seek and destroy because I am instructed to do so; this so called "enemy" has done me no wrong nor intended to do so.

I have no idea where I am, dirty and hot, but I know I have to be here. I am scared I admit but cannot display my fear.

I am but a boy, but still a soldier, a man of war, whose war? Not mine. How do they expect me to kill men, women, children as I would kill scavenging swine?

This is too much for me, this is not my world, I want to go home, to my friends, to my family, and I need to hug my little girl.

I am writing a letter now to my officers back home, I hope they understand my position, I am not a coward but I no longer agree with the cause, this is my decision.

They are firing at us now, we are being ambushed, we must take cover, we are surrounded, they are firing bombs, oh God, when will this be over?

I hope and pray we make it through the night; the shells are coming hard and fast now,
I just want to make it home but I don't know when or……….

So this is how it ends, another young life laid to rest,
Do me a favour, tell my daughter her daddy was brave, he was a man and a soldier, tell her I loved her and tell her I did my best.