A Soldiers Impersonal War Poem by Philip Lore

Nothings sacred,
There is no glory,
Just daily shock and awe.
No imagination,
Just wringing emotion,
I suffer this impersonal war.

Preservation, obligation,
Waiting in the night,
Fear consuming, rockets booming,
Future not too bright.

I have no time for idle cares,
Blood shot eyes, vacant stares.
A thousand voices, unearthly groans,
Ungodly, battle noises droan.

Days burn hot, nights much colder,
Breathing faint, I feel much older.
Nervous faces, jaws clenched tight,
Tired bodies have to fight.

All existence has no meaning in this war,
A few more months, I can close this door.