The Beat

Pawns in a storm of wildfire

I’ve walked with the tired and lonely
and listened to the beat
of a song that lasts too long
and the ground beneath my feet.

Now time has passed I often ask
what was the battle for?
I thought I could see it would set us free
though never counted the score.

Friends that I lost was the ultimate cost
mowed down by spitting fire
though I survived I didn’t thrive
just one more gun for hire.

Who picked the rose nobody knows
was it the timing that went awry?
and that pain can manifest shame
one lived whilst the others die.

Then there’s the collateral damage
left out of the logbooks and lied
all glossed over with no real closure
the innocent people who died.

Pawns in a storm of wildfire
little time to count up the score
then to the beat of other men’s feet
who knows what this war is for?

Such is the thrust of the willing
marching as one to the beat
defending a fanciful freedom
in up to their necks so deep.

I know I was there with the vanquished
no winners there to stand tall
some beats of my heart are still missing
since I heeded the beat and the call.

©

David Rudder
24th June 2020

Thanks for reading.