This is a poem I wrote as a young soldier 28 years ago while serving in the British Army. It’s not quite on the theme of mental health, but it represents the emotional impact that training had on me.
There it goes again: bang.
The blackbird killed. In bloody war
there is no innocence, just death.
The wind is up.
Death grows. The heat is dancing
to the devil’s tune of screaming lungs
The dust settles, creeping, searching
moulding. Flesh is burning, melting
corroding. Pain is long forgotten.
Death is alive. Darkness
is the king. Time ticks on and on
to nothing, from nothing, going nowhere.