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It's times like this, when I'm down in the sand,
Lying on my belly, with a gun in my hand
Overlooking the desert from this dusty post
Thinking about the things that I miss the most

Or when I'm out of camp on the night patrol
Or when I'm off to acquire enemy targets - an ultimate goal
When the moon is the only light around
And I don't dare move or make a sound

A heavy helmet on my head, a heavy rifle to hold
When I'm expected to follow orders, and do what I'm told
Or when I forget that I need someone to watch my back,
(The bullet wound on my shoulder, a reminder of that)

When I know that it's wrong, but I have no choice
No one notices me; I don't have a voice
When the enemy fires, and I'm under attack
When I have to think fast, and then fire back

When I see the enemy starting to run
We both shoot at each other, both afraid of our guns
When I look him in the eye, that's when I see
That the guy I'm shooting back at is just as scared as me

Sitting up all night because I simply can't sleep
Sometimes I'm silent and sometimes I weep
It's not the noise of modern war nor the constant heartache
But my conflicting thoughts and memories that keep me awake

From the guns, and the bombs, and the army tanks too
The sniffer dogs, radio calls and shouts from the crew
Bullet wounds, broken bones and knocks to the head
To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised I'm not dead

When it just gets too tough, and I think I can't cope
When it seems to be over, with no sign of hope
When I feel deserted and all alone
It's times like this when I long to be home.

by Emily Robertson (0)
Cults Academy, Aberdeen

Competition - War Of Words

Copyright remains with the author.