He is the man in front
Who bears the brunt,
Of what is out there,
A war of two men in disrepair.
Of the drone of guns,
The battle of drums.
In a French countryside torn apart,
The mud, the trench, the broken heart.
I am the man behind, who watches still,
While the enemy rages and takes their fill.
We are but boys,
Playing the same childish game.
A thick veil of smoke between us.
Scared of one another,
But terrified of ourselves.
Do you know what I fear?
Someday I will wake,
And I will feel nothing.
Make no mistake,
It's not what I want.
But by then,
I will be the man in front.
