An Ode to the German Soldier-WWII 1944

by Daniel Routh

The cold night closed around us,

wisps of steam rising from chapped mouths,

guns held tightly.

We did not want to be here.

Our memories of warm fires,

hot soup, loving wives, pudgy children-

haunted us.

Dead comrades, fallen foe, their faces rising eerily in the fog.

We loved our land, Germany.

The bold, the manly, the Fatherland.

But now a few ruled the land with fear on their black uniforms-

the skull patch on their hat appropriate.

We did not hate our enemy,

cheerful, courageous, but tired like us.

But we could not turn back.

We are merely puppets to kings,

acting out their whims with our blood,

their desires with our lives.

It is the way of the ages.

Dust we will soon become,

the light in our eyes,

darkness.

Soon, no one will know we ever lived.

Even our families will go on without us,

while we rot beside the bodies of our fallen comrades

and fallen foe.

Within a century, no one will ever know we existed-

no one will care.

New wars, fresh blood, more greed.

It has been decreed from before time.

And even our bodies will become Terra,

feeding the earth,

becoming earth.

And our spirits will shed their rotting shell and fly on to the next world,

a place we do not know.

While on earth, the world goes on-

mother's babbling, children crying, men working, people scheming, dreams

breaking, seasons changing.

A twig snapping.

An explosion, hot fire in the night.

We bow to fate,

and fight for a leader we hate, for there is nothing else.

A pain in my side, screams.

But I fall silently into the snow, staring at pines overhead,

at the stars beyond my grasp.

A friend from youth falls dead across my chest, a vacant expression on his bloody face.

I pray a blessing for my family, Ilse, Gretel, and Heinrich.

My spirit seems to be lifting, tearing from my body.

I take a last look at the forest, thinking of the spring which is coming.

But I am tired of thinking. I close my eyes,

and commit my soul to God, a last searing pain tearing my chest,

as gentle hands pull up, above the trees, a last glimpse of the bloody forest,

a peace rising in me.

It is complete.