Dominic Jones-Tett

Written age 12
James Gillespie's High School, Edinburgh

THE FACE OF A SOLDIER'S WAR

The soldier, barely twenty, sits on a stone pile,

The ruined beast behind him

Crying a drop of cold black oil,

Waiting for the shadows of death

And the executioner's crusher.

Remembering when he was a lion,

Proud, majestic,

He would roar at his foes,

Charge spitting balls of death,

Smoke-bellowing fire.

Let fear torture their hearts and poison their souls,

The thrill of doom and adrenaline rush of destruction.

He was the man with the spear of flame.

It flew out of an iron tunnel.

The soldier sits next to the beast now, comforting it,

Like his mother used to do,

Thinking about those people,

His friend who died in the beast,

The enemies he killed - no, murdered - men and women,

Even a child, only five,

His family home on the other side of the world.