The Conscript

The conscript stands at attention,
Fearful of the coming battle
Wondering why
He thought he left off fearing
When Erin’s shores slipped beneath the waves,
He was drafted ere he made a home,

His hands were hardened used to plowing
And hauling nets from the sea
No longer
His musket is a marvel to behold
A lethal toy in his grasp
Yet awkward still, and unnatural,

His sea gray eyes are bewildered
Anxious of the future horrors
Fear shadowed
He was used to work and laughter

Now hides within the clown

His buffoonery a refuge,

His sergeant despised him
Thinking him cannon fodder only
Wasted training
Uncaring of the hidden man
Struggling to fulfill a duty
He didn’t seek nor understands,

He shivers at the cannon crashing
Remembering lush, green fields
Dreaming thunder
Longing to see his love once more
Enfold her in the comfort of his arms
And wipe the tears from her cheeks,

He watches as the enemy fires
And stares at the dying
Heart cold
Fearful as his time approaches
Resolved to brave the Morrigu
The conscript stands at attention.

Copr. 2019 Maggie G.