He stood on the deck, waiting
For someone he knew had bidden adieu;
The battlefield was scarlet with blood,
For his army had on their hands a lot of gore.
He waited for his mate,
Yet, he knew he had bidden goodbye;
How much he craved
For the touch of a vanished hand!
Yet, he knew he would never see
His jocund face again.
The war had stripped away humanity,
But it was only his friend
Who snapped him back to reality;
The young lad wondered,
What would happen if he now retired?
He had seen a lot of death
In his short life;
But nothing could ever curb
The horror transpiring on this front.
The confrontation was like a raging storm,
With the thunder of guns,
And blood;
As the mortal minds took time
To process the irony of it all,
The gods in the heavens pitied us all.
But not all wars are lost,
Neither are they won;
This conflict may be disastrous,
But never more petrifying than the loss.
He thought of his friend, his family,
A wife waiting for him in Milan;
He was a survivor, he was a fighter;
So were his fellow army men.
He had to win this monstrous war,
If not for him, then perhaps for his friend;
The one who died bravely in the battlefield,
Storming the enemy.
He waited for his French companion,
Who he knew had bidden farewell;
He missed his friend’s laughter,
Yet, he whispered – Au revoir.
