The Beach Wore Red Poem by Joyce A Halvorsen

A glass camouflage of
Waves hunched upon waves
Sounding the eminent and mortal attack
The sky so blue just the morning before
Rains ashen and gray today
War emits its screams and explosions and death
A tsunami of destruction and terror
Pushing forward those not so brave
Today the beach wore red
A soldier falls up the shore
Grasping a hill of silken bloody sand
A piece of land and then nothing more
Run, run to nowhere and a medic takes his hand
Look for the next place to hide -
Or seek out someone in command
Soldier grits his teeth and crawls -
Trust the buddy system
No one in an Army is abandoned
Chokes back the terror and the dust, presses back his helmet
In a moment can he take another man's life?
The sulfuric stench of smoke and spent ammunition
Caissons of cannon blasts and the ascrid stink of buring flesh
The gasping rasping rattle, the fight for life
And the sound of the silence just before death
Searing shrapnel, furious bullets zing around the Soldier
And his buddies on either side of him are no more
Bodies stacked like cord wood
Waves weep for them then sweep them far out to sea
Or bury them deep in the sandy beach - the tide oozes crimson
Who knew it would be like this?
It was supposed to be noble - a holy thing
With marching bands, drums and fifes
Hardy smiling brigades of lads to lift the flags
Handkerchief waves and burning kisses
From the rose lips of gals left at home -
A letter to say 'come home' with 'small love poems'
But it wasn't that way - just old dead dreams
And pale grim epitaphs -
Labeled dog tags on the toe - a rush to get to shore
The next contribution would be on the country's altar
Perhaps that would be acceptable - preferable - an honor -
A good soldier has to believe
If it comes to that - Being maimed and left for dead
Now that is another damned thing -
There's no comfort in the loss of part of your being
Told 'hurry - move on Soldier - can't stay here'
Nakedly aware of the rifle that isn't there
The saber the soldier will not bear
The medic is called again and again
And the beach wore scarlet in spite of him.
The soldier of conscience thinks better of this
He took an allegiance to serve in the depths of hell
The wide open eyes of death communes with the soldiers - always
Yet the beach doesn't care
It spies another living being
Now wounded and dying
She picks at his limbs as he moans
And she sucks him down
Into her black abyss
Gobbles him before the next soldier's very eyes
Would he have shot the ocean too?
Would you?
How crimson the hands
Of the Soldiers at play
How red the ocean blue.