Thinking of travel.

Monday, June 2, 2014

Towards Death I Run

I will run towards death this day.
Mangled bodies, screams of pain and fear will not block my way.
I will steel my heart against the terror, and turn my back upon the horror.
Death is not my fear.
It is the life of my comrades that I hold dear.
I will charge my enemy.
His artillery will flash, his guns will scream, courage will be my academy.
My weapon, I will point at man and spread his blood upon this sand.
Charging the beach loosing my breath.
I will reach the wall, or face my death.
My men will fall dead at my feet.
Fountains of flesh will fill the sky, and the eighty-eights will keep the beat.
Bunkers to my left will spews hell on earth, the run will not be over until I prove my worth.
The hill in front with tall wavy grass, I must climb it first.
I do not want to be last.
We must rid this place of Satan’s sting.
So violent, he will cut us down, to force us to kiss his ring.
Not I, is my response for the fear of death, I will not ensconce.
I will let loose my cannons, lob my mortars.
I will give no quarter.
The man with the purple stole, stopped by to talk.
You are a brave and courageous man who, through adversity stood and fought.
Hold true to your belief, for your brothers departed do not grieve.
For you will soon be in the light.
This battle is no longer your fight.
My body, cold and dead, was found, on the beach the morning after.
Amongst the chaos of war, this story to be told hereafter.
I had reached the sand next to the trees of steel.
It was there I decided to make my stand.
I gave my all, but was stopped by an arrow of chance,
At the water’s edge, on a beach in France.
Terrance Frank Lazaroff CD
Keeping the memory alive for those who gave their life on 6 June 1944

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