This is a poem called “Troopers” written by Curtis D. Bennett about his experiences in a war zone. The amended version you will find below, however if you want to read the original then pay a visit to www.warpoetry.co.uk, the poem is located here: http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/...

Amended text:


TROOPERS
 
In quiet dignity, they trudge their war,
Weapons ready, line on line, in dusty, desert boots
Walking the crowded broken biblical city,
Where rivers of black, human excrement
Trickle the shadowed alleys and cobbled streets.
The helmet mounted mirror- visors reflect the loathing,
The hostile, seething resentment and hatred,
Emanating from the dark and silent, watching people
Born and native to this ancient desert land.
 
There is a unique poise about these troops,
A quality not found in peers,
The special bearing, common only
To young men in combat.
They bear a stoic, resignation,
A façade of wary acceptance,
A weariness in their movements
As they slowly walk the war.
Struggling with its elements,
And inside, struggling with themselves,
For just below the surface,
They keep the well-known secret,
The haunting fear and cowardice, common to all.
 
Twenty-four–seven they walk that line,
Living up to their reputation,
Assuming the swagger, the hard line,
A casual indifference to death
That masks their deep seeded fear of dying,
The overwhelming urge to break and run,
The paralyzing instinct to freeze or hide
While silently praying in secret
That whatever happens, they won’t look bad!
 
That is why they are at war;
This is where they would want to be
Rather then face the shame of not going, and avoiding the label of coward.
To uphold a fragile concept of honour bestowed upon them by their nation
They place their military’s reputation on the line.
While defending a foreign lands popluation
So proudly, they carry this honour,
That is what they need to do
Even if it means they may die
For something they don’t believe to be true.

Curtis D. Bennett
6 March 2007