This Is He

His wild heart beats with painful sobs,
His stranded hands clenched on an ice-cold rifle,
His aching jaws gripped a hot, parched tongue,
His wide eyes search unconsciously.

He cannot shriek.

Bloody saliva
Dribbles down his shapeless jacket.

I saw him stab
And stab again
A well-killed Boche.

This is a happy warrior;
This is he…