The Soldier and the Poet

By the roadside sat two men One a soldier and the other a poet One a warrior among men, The other a warrior of the pen One sculpted by war, The other, by horrors of the soul Each had fought a war. For their souls One had killed in jungles cold. The other in pages cold Each to save their soul. These warriors of old Sat by that road Where it got clammy and cold Each in their own thoughts Each recounting days gone. When their souls were lost One to the gun The other to the pen But don’t think the poet a lesser man. For as a boy he became a man The pages were real death. Forced to kill those ugly men that took his soul. It was just a dynamite stick. And the fuse went boom!! No more turns Or being passed around like a cigarette by those men. There was just no more cigarette-smoke breath. And don’t think the soldier, Anything less They were just orders. “Kill them!” It was just war. “Kill them!” The enemy must learn, Here we mean business. So, the two warriors Sat side by side And stared blankly, Across the cold dreary road And in the distance A storm cloud formed, Then sudden thunder. Each warrior ducked.