CRIMEa

We March to impending doom. Unsettled as the midnight hour that presses its weight against our very future.

We march side by side.

The Russian Captain raises his hand to give the order to fire;

Left, left, left right left.

I quake in my oversized boots. The bullets skim over our thin hats. A hailstorm of hate.

The third war in this third world. The Worst World War. Is that what they’ll call it?

Left, left, left right left.

WE March unarmed. The only difference between the two great legions.

How far has it been? A mile or a yard? We are a Marathon of Martyrs. a Just Marathon of Martyrs.

Left, left, left right left.

Pause for thought.

Just think. Just shake his hand, say sorry. Then it’ll be all over.

All over for little Johnny.

We both know that it would take more than all the king’s horses and all the king’s men to put this situ back together again.

Left, left, left right left.

HALT

I’m taken aback.

My mouth: dry.

The callous way with which my opposition stands

Riles the already bubbling hate.

My lungs: coarse.

There is nothing to say. Stalemate.

Sevastopol, our town, is theirs.

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About jamiemcdonald42

I'm a 19 year old Media student living in Edinburgh. My passion in life is music and this passion has inspired me to keep up a blog of reviews of the live gigs and performances I go to see. View all posts by jamiemcdonald42

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