Breech Blocks

It is easy to romanticize war

From the comfort of a small, serene life;

Bloody mayhem seems thrilling from afar

Untouched by the loud storm and bitter strife

But battles must have an acrid odor

How horrendous was the stench of a trench?

As either the gunner or the loader

There must have been sounds, fit the mind to wrench

The screams of the injured and the dying

Whispered prayers, and urgent, loud commands;

A growing sense, beyond all denying

That killing machines make cold, hard demands

To become a soldier must mean changing:

Hearts of flesh for cool metal, exchanging