Guilt Of A Hero. Poem by Ross Watson

Paint me a picture with your words,
make me feel as though I were there,
standing on the front lines,
kneeling behind stacks of bodies to shield myself from the bullets,
knee deep in my brothers blood,
fighting for a cause I no longer believed in.

Now, just for survival I have done things,
unspeakable things.
I would sooner cut out my own tongue before I told my children of these things.

I would blind myself but I know I would still see those images.

Tell me what it was like,

was it exciting?
was it beautiful the way the bombs lit up the night sky?

did the helpless cries of the enemy sound like music to your ears?
did ash fall like snow?
did it cover your sins?

did you embrace the hatred and pain?
did you kiss the forehead of death and hold it's cold hand?

Tell me what it was like, I insist.
I must know without paying with my own life.

Was your shadow slit open?
did it bleed your darkest secrets?
or did it fall behind as you continued to march forward?

Did you leave your shadow out there?
somewhere on the battlefield.

Did you lose your soul amongst the mangled bodies?

tell me, I must know, I must know why you are here,
why I am here,
wait…..

why am I here, in this padded room?
did I do those unspeakable things?
Things only a hero could do.