I, too, believed in God’s name, saw him through the dirt,
While the ground shook uncertainly beneath our feet,
And the Captain screaming to stay alert...
Turning to face my comrade-in-arms, I saw him smile and mouth –
Our motto? Our slogan? Or was it some distant drum beat?
Dulce Et Decorum Est.
Running my fingers over his M9, I marvel at its explosive power,
It’s ability to bring another man to his knees – as it had done to me once before.
I curse in vain. Shaking his head, he subtly reminds me ---
Dulce Et Decorum Est.
Death falls like a shadow, hushing all other noise to make way for the ‘zeeng zeeng’
Of grenades whizzing towards us, Vultures sent from seventh hell.
I search for some path out of the clutches of Michael,
As I get close to my liberty, a faded troop banner stirs loyalty within me
Dulce Et Decorum Est.
Later in the night, anger claws within the pit of my stomach.
Happy the lad who sleeps in his own bed at night, slumbers deep into the night and dreams of...
Well, dreams of anything but us. We, the nearly forgotten –
Stirring at the edge of the mind’s memories, Known but never acknowledged.
The nearly forgotten; The nearly departed.
My eyes close of their own accord, weary of the hurt of the colour of blood forever.
Lucifer sings softly, tauntingly in my ears;
The old piece of regurgitated propaganda – Dulce Et Decorum Est.
As the blanket of darkness smothers the daylight,
I allow my veins to run cold; Cease feeling
Tomorrow, I intend to kill and maim as many as possible.
“I’m Hit!” My mate’s howls rip through my skull.
As I run to him, dread should have overcome
My stone cold heart. I kneel as his arms seize,
The tags around my neck. And I witness the stages of his death;
Fear, defiance, then despair as he realizes he can no longer hold on –
Hope, then the wish for dark death to engulf him already,
Then a final primitive defiance, before the instant of death itself.
A flash, as life ebbs from his eyes, leaving them glassy and empty.
Yet I stay on my knees, wondering where to bury the body.
A mirthless laugh escapes me; they were right.
Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori – It IS sweet and fitting to die for your country.
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