All alone Staring at the stars

The nightingale has long since flown and I am broken, all alone,
Wandering the winter sky for solace. But there’s no hint of peace here
On this war-torn horizon, wondering if I’ll find an oasis
Of calm somewhere, anywhere, far away in Orion’s hunter stars.

Certainly not. The trees are bare. Even the birds have nowhere to nest.
Only the drones fly above our heads and as shells explode on all sides,
We can only pray that they miss. Then earth flies and someone cries out.
Voices shout. Someone is down. “Is it bad?” “Bad enough”,
He replies with a frown. There’s a choke and a cough,
“Tell my wife…”, but he spoke no more, drips of blood froth around his mouth.
His face now white through the mud, his lips bright red, bloody and moist.
Then silence. No noise can be heard. No words. A shake of the head.
A flutter of wings as a solitary bird flies off to heaven or a haven on earth.

And I’m all alone, broken, more dead than alive.
No words can be spoken, as I lie very still,
Wondering if I’ll survive this night until sunrise.
Will I die in my sleep or keep awake through it all?
I’ll stay on my guard, so I can see the shells fall
And be awake in this hell for one more night.
Just hoping for the best and staring at the sky.
Tomorrow will be fine. The stars never lie.

Unlike our general who’s safe in his bed,
Far from the frontline, toasting success,
With vodka and wine, he couldn’t care less.
We follow regardless. Our duty: kill or be killed.
There’s no middle ground, only for the dead.
No pity, no joy, no time for hope or despair.
Just an endless struggle in this shitty land,
For a boy to go home to his mum as a man.