5. Seven Sons - 2. Soldier

Seven Sons

An epic poem in 7 parts with Prologue and Epilogue

2. Soldier

The second son, Arthur, had only one wish.
A pugnacious boy and a fighter was he;
Malicious and fierce like a dog on the leash,
He was overfilled with bellicosity.

He grew rather strong but alas! not too smart,
So studying never came easily to him.
On becoming a soldier he set his heart,
As to that desire he didn’t hang in the wind.

The father could never approve such a choice,
For he was a pacifist and hated war.
Not once he asked his son to follow his voice,
But Arthur didn’t care as if Dad was no more.

Well, he joined the army despite Dad’s requests,
Immediately liked the strict discipline there,
And little time later he became the best
Soldier — always having a bellig’rent air.

All officers liked his industriousness,
Though his aggressivity scared them at times.
A fav’rite of the unit, nevertheless,
Was he, a good private who just toed the line.

An excellent runner and swimmer and shot,
Our Art was just dying to have a real fight,
But he did not know he had not seen a lot,
That such a desire could not ever be right.

At last he got his way and was sent to war,
The war in some country that was far away.
A whole lot of nasty things our soldier saw,
But still he liked that more and more every day.

What’s better than murdering your enemy,
Spilling his damned blood, blowing out his damned brains,
Enjoying the sight of his death agony,
Delighting in the fact your hands are bloodstained?

What’s better than feeling the steel of a gun?
What’s better than being a soldierly guy?
But what could the father say about his son
While being afraid that at war he could die?

But Arthur did not care for his father’s fears.
He liked to accomplish his heroic deeds.
A brave man, he really didn’t have any peers.
He was not a doctor but knew how to bleed.

Thus our Arthur became a mercenary
Completing vile missions all over the world.
He was decorated for them constantly,
And services thought him worth his weight in gold.

Precise and reliable as a machine,
Not feeling regrets, never having remorse,
He was just a puppet on his masters’ string,
An automaton for many stupid wars.

But one incident made our guy meditate
On what he’d been doing for so many years,
On people he killed though there wasn’t any hate,
On women who, because of his deeds, shed tears.

In one faraway country where he got to,
He had to wipe out a small insurgent group.
As it was before, he knew what he would do,
Assisted, as usual, by a trusty troop.

“The rebels must die,” such was their strict command.
All could happen like it did always before
When Arthur could take every mission in hand
No matter what situation was in war.

There was a young maiden in the rebeldom,
The daughter of one respected mutineer
For whom Arthur’s soldiers prepared the last home
After the protracted hanging on the rear.

But as soon as Arthur saw the rebel’s girl,
He felt, in surprise, that there was something wrong
Inside his stale heart that had been always cold,
But now he could not say what was going on.

Was that love he felt? Well, it was hard to say.
But she was a rebel, and she had to die.
Sentenced to be shot, the girl soon passed away,
And, seeing that, Arthur thought to himself: why?

Since then something broke in the young soldier’s soul,
He started to seek death in the battlefield.
He understood he’d played the unenviable role
In this life, and now all he wished was to yield

To the Reaper’s arms. And he was killed one day:
He noticed the enemy but did not fire.
He learned the life’s value at last, I can say:
By death to atone his sins was his desire.

2–14.11.99