Bombs, bombs and then more bombs.

And then a silence so harsh
it was as if cuts were being marked on your body.

And then the silence turned to the highest of pitches, as if only a barking dog could hear.

Then the pitch turned low, and only the roar
of a fellow soldier was decipherable amongst the dust.

And then the roar turned to uncertainty,
as the soldier curdles the body of another,
the face unrecognizable, half blown away.

And then the uncertainty becomes clarity,
as the tag of the soldier, engraved a mans
name, a man you had considered your brother.

And then the clarity becomes rage,
rage and vengeance.

And the heat surges through you like
your soul was leaping out of your body.

And the rage and the vengeance turns to fear.

And the fear becomes the face of your daughter,
looking up at you, crying for her daddy.

And the tears and words become distant,
and all that is left, is survival.