Trapped in a greenhouse
Without walls;
No doors,
just keyholes here and there.
The air hung heavy over you,
like smog in your home town
on a summer's day.
But the heat was different here;
the trees had eyes, well trained,
while you were blind
to all that was not concrete steel, or glass.
No help in sight, provisions scarce.
Water from above, below,
Rotting your calves,
You had a bowl of soup
on top of a half a comrade.
The only soldier left, the troupe
dispersed, all dead.
First enemy you ever shot
turned out a child,
a girl with long black hair.
You broke down, wailed and cried,
(It's not like you don't care)
but the sergeant said it was alright.
He also taught you that
war is a means of conflict resolution
And you would all prevail!
You've learnt that war is retribution
And loss, to no avail.



Copyright © 2007 by Claudia Bierschenk