Wrong train

Basically I am the one who remains.Like the others, I took the wrong train.

Getting off at the valley station in the rain.

Somewhat confuse, others I amused.

Hopping a new coach, to the front, I did toast.

Here to cry victory, 

to send enemies to their knees.

Arriving at the last post, 

I find hurting bloody friends refusing to boast.

Had I arrived with them I’d have seen, 

angry, evil inflicted on these.

What friend refuses to care, 

when wars tempest musses life’s hair.

Regardless the hour, victory is in my power.

Between trenches I ply, 

avoiding lead screaming through the sky.

But as before, before I can get on the floor, 

tricked is the band, leaving each man.

The dance is done, no one has won.

In a poppy field of red I stand,

Morning blood shed here by every man.

Avoiding wars angry race,

Please, humanity, put hate in its place.

No, not another train,

Will I find the right line, 

or stand again in the rain.



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