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In a Soldier's Hand MAG
I sit cold and cruel
 in the hand of the enemy
 words disintegrate to dust
 the harsh dirt below your feet
 cries aloud, sodden with the burden you
 force me to carry because
 I am the enemy,
 or so you say.
 
 made to succumb to others’ bidding,
 I feel nothing and aim: hitting
 while they still look green and plastic, fake
 like the toys you used to play with in Grandpa’s
 living room, before you realized 
 the price of carrying your flag
 so high.
 
 but go ahead, lift it higher
 nobody will notice the bloody footsteps
 imprinted across the stripes.
 you will only notice your own trail of loss
 as I extinguish nights you could have had
 beneath a star-studded sky, holding the hand
 of a lover,
 
 you formed me from lifeless steel
 and carry me to do the work
 no one else wants on their hands,
 justifying it with common causes and cures
 all the while saying I’m evil
 I AM
 a murderer.
 but you know and I know
 it is not my will; it is yours.
 
 lay me down now, lay me down.
 what are you playing at?
 forget the squabble come too far
 you must know brutality draws more
 and more
 until there is nothing else
 but lay me down and 
 you could still have that night,
 beneath a star-studded sky, holding the hand
 of a lover.
 
 and that person of green and plastic
 you see across the barren landscape
 lays me down too,
 while his mother draws a breath of relief as she
 hears his voice on the other end of the telephone,
 “It’s over. It’s done. I’m coming home.”

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This article has 35 comments.
FANTASTIC!
keep it up
This is a good piece of writing but leaves the reader breathless in thought. (Thought-Provoking writing)