Conscience

The soldier’s conscience was troubling him,
the enemy was foremost in his thoughts.
Day and night he questioned his decisions
whilst mentally and physically he fought.

One early morning as the sun climbed the sky
he made sure his back faced the sun.
with bayonet fixed he stabbed his shadow
all day and until the moon did come.

The day left him exhausted, tired and hungry,
but convinced he’d beat the enemy within.
But the next day his conscience had returned
with the message that killing was not for him.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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