440

A bag of fools slung over his shoulder, the soldier crawls along the line of trees
One, two, and three then breathes as a twilight enemy passes and moves towards
His future, his destiny
Lies and double cross have brought him to a junction in Afghanistan, 18 years and
I fear he doesn't see me looking over his shoulder from the bag that politicians placed here
On his birthday before he left me, my son and I both in tears as we waved goodbye
To his childhood and greeted the man I now see fading in front of me,
'Son, I am always with you' I whisper in his ear, as his foot detonates an IED
And he becomes not my son anymore but simply a number quoted by the MOD
As if numbers really mean anything anymore to me,
Except 1
1 boy, 1 man, 1 son
Always remembered in a war never lost, never won