David Finkelstein

Journal entry

War

You’re running with the wind,

Your finger on the trigger,

Your nerves are all on end,

Your eyes are on the road,

You’re looking to the right,

You’re looking to the left,

You keep telling yourself,

You ain’t the last one left,

The others are right there,

Following at a steady pace,

But just out of sight,

So you really just don’t know,

But you know enough,

To trust that they’re right there,

Following along, just out of sight,

Suddenly you see some people,

Your brain screams “resistance!”

It tells you to engage,

So your finger on the trigger,

Is suddenly pulling,

And there are lots of little pieces,

Of metal flying out,

And you feel so dang ecstatic,

Like nothing here can stop you,

You cut down every man,

That dares stand in your way,

And yet there are still more,

So you tell yourself,

In the back of your mind,

They’re just out of sight,

But I know enough,

To trust that they’re still there,

Then suddenly there are too many,

You just can’t keep up,

And there is a tap on your shoulder,

As if death is letting you know,

That he has come to take you,

Then you feel the spot become warm,

And you think, for some strange reason,

That death’s hand should really be cold,

You can’t let yourself think,

That the warm is blood,

That that they aren’t there,

The ecstasy is gone,

All that’s left is you,

Standing there with a gun,

Pulling the trigger,

Watching the metal fly out,

You realize, so suddenly,

What you are really doing,

And you drop the gun,

And realize the warm is really blood,

They aren’t just out of sight,

They’re never coming,

They’ll never be there,

Fast enough to help,

Death started punching,

Kicking, ripping,

Bullets rip your body,

And as you look down you see,

You’re friends coming,

And running by,

Taking care of the resistance,

But you no longer feel,

That this is right,

That you are doing,

The right thing for your country,

The pride is gone,

So is your life and here you just floating,

Looking down, upon yourself,

And suddenly realizing,

That your wife will get a notice,

And your son will cry,

But it doesn’t matter,

Because you don’t know why,

Would people grab,

These sticks of metal,

Go and stab themselves,

Through these smaller,

Pieces of metal,

And kill each other still?

Of what sense does it make?

To lose so many lives,

After fighting to end,

Segregation with whites and blacks,

Fighting to end,

Discrimination between ethnic groups,

Fighting to end,

Poverty and so many places,

As if the person doesn’t matter,

But rather for what they stand,

For what they believe in,

And suddenly you see,

That everyone is different,

That there can never be,

This ideal peace, this harmony,

For there must always be,

A balance of the people,

Who don’t believe in war and death,

And oh so few,

So very little,

Who fight to fight,

And just so few,

Can lead entire armies,

Can take these people,

Make these laws,

And you think,

In your lasts thoughts on earth,

That to fight to stop,

The people who fight,

To fight each other all the time,

Makes no sense, nor does anything,

So you smile as you pass away,

As so many do,

And you know that you’re not the only one,

Who realized the truth,

But who are you to judge,

And tell what be the truth?

So people fight,

Because they can’t,

Bring themselves to think,

To understand; at least to try!

And you think to yourself,

That it takes so little time,

Just a moment in your life,

To let you think,

And see what you want,

And know what you wanted to know,

And slowly thoughts fade,

And you feel that ecstasy,

For you finally understand!

And aren’t afraid,

Or even sad,

That your life suddenly ended. ●