emerson achari

The Confession Series- Poem 4 - Poem by emerson achari

I was awarded a medal
a medal of death

My life was never straight
my life was never one of light nor hope
my life was one of non importance

before this war
i was a nobody
i was but another man

before this war
i had no one alive
i was alone
everyone i loved
long dead

before this war
i couldn't hold a gun
i couldn't take a life..

I was awarded a medal
a medal of death

I hated to choose
i felt his pain
i felt his fear
i familiarized the sense of despair
For i felt it too
we all did

i felt as if i was killing a part of myself
i could not look away
i blamed myself for all their deaths
i know everyone did..

I was awarded a medal
a medal of death

The people who i once admired
the soldiers that were heroes
i now despised

they had no sense of remorse
no sense of pain
they could not be human
i hate them
as i do myself

I was awarded a medal
a medal of death

i did it again
i killed
this time a young man
no more than thirty

it was easy
horribly easy
His friend looked away
he did not see me

The soldier looked elated
yet also awfully concentrated
a letter of sorts
was grasped in his hand

i remember his eyes
blue and full of hope and life
a second later the eyes dimmed now empty

I was awarded a medal
a medal of death

i read the letter
it tortured me
his wife bore a son...
i killed his father

I was awarded a medal
a medal of death

what right did we have to choose
to choose who lived and who died
it was not up to us
nor our countries
if we chose it made us no better
no better than the beasts we hunt

I was awarded a medal
a medal of death

it sickened me
to my country i was a hero
the famed soldier who killed a hundred men
to me i was failure
a man who murdered hundreds
as if with my own hands

it will all end now
no more shall i fight
no more shall i watch them die
no more shall i hear their voices and dying words
some begging others not

i wish you were here with me my love
you would know another way out
but do not fret i shall come
and that very soon

I raised my weapon
it gleamed in the dying light
the weapon that ceased the lives of so many
the number long forgotten
yet it was ever ready
ready for its next victim

its final victim


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, September 26, 2013

Poem Edited: Friday, September 27, 2013

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