Love is still a Battlefield

 "I surely miss the peaceful twist, when I never fired a round. When I was young and loved for fun. With never a heartache found." 

Loving a Foxhole mainly consist of you promising the floor that if it would just be deep enough this time while the artillery is going off that you would dig it down to China to show your appreciation. And I for one have always loved my Foxhole. Before, during, and after the artillery. 

The thing I did not love was the surety of knowing whether it was the artillery above or the soldiers below I was not going to make it out of this one. 

I thought of my family back home. Although they numbered in the average for count. In reality they numbered only my daughter. 

I thought of my leadership that ordered me into this unwinnable. I imagine the laughter that strikes up in the board and meeting rooms about what they'd done as a joke and a laugh. It seems I'm quite amusing. 

I thought of my brothers-in-arms. How few of them left. No, not downed in battle. But rather in on the joke waiting till I was fully invested, fully committed and just hopped the bus to greener pastures and safety.  With only one soldier left in range of my radio. A member of the artillery. Oh the irony. With me without targets to give, to get support. 

With their artillery insisting, I thought of my enemies. How indifferent they must be by now. With the smug look of we told you so on all their faces. With all their support. With their superior leaders. And there numerous well wishing and loving families. With their victory check all but cashed in. Just watching to let their artillery pound in the punctuation of, "I was wrong". And now I will pay. But not before the pain. 

I was the epitome of the poster. The cause needed me and I was more than the statuesque man of the mission. Idealist, dreamer, earnest, I was a lot of things back then. But committed I was. A true, what is the word now? Fool of the people. Alone on the field. In the dirt. Loving the floor of my Foxhole. 

It's not raining. So I can occasionally see an errant shell as it dots across the sky. Wondering what fun it's missing by being shot too high. If only I could join it. Instead of being here for its better shot compatriots as they arrive on target. 

I can't scream anymore. It hurts my throat. Not to mention it makes it hard for me to promise my loving Foxhole how much I'd adore it, if it would just be deep enough. 

I can't cry anymore that would just make my foxhole muddy and trust me she doesn't like that. 

I can't dream of, fantasize about, the girl back home. You know the one I left behind. There never was, there never will be, because this is just the cosmic joke of the Galaxy. 

I can't curse my enemies anymore. They never turned against me. They never lied to me. They were never insincere. They are what they always were. They stand for what they always stood for. And it turns out they were right. 

The stars are seen as though for someone else. Locked away for someone else's starry night. Only waiting for this to clear and me to be gone. 

"It's been said that the only way to fail is to fail to try. But even then you still can and then cry. Just one more myth" 

Why don't I run out to meet it? Why not, with no winning on the schedule. Because I'm the fool in this play. I boasted and proclaimed. Now I fight and love my Foxhole. And behind the crash of the shells, cry. 

Taking a break from hugging my Foxhole. The twinkling of stars for others eyes. Why should I hide in this hole! I've been here this long, I doubt they have the guts to take me out!! Come to think of it I'd love to see them try and take me out!! Standing out, defiant to the shell's fury, I proclaim my supremacy to the enemy! I'd LOVE to see you try and take me out!! 

Ouch!, ouch, ouch, lying at the bottom and again looking up at the twinkling of someone else's stars, I think to myself.. It's true. It's true what they say. Love truly does hurt. 

"When my weapon finally locks to rear. And all my targets are down and clear. Someone raise the flag for beer. Then and only then will I accept that I am out of here." 

3 sentences that I can never run from. 3 sentences that I can never heal from. 3 sentences that are like a stake in my heart every day. 

I don't. 

I never did. 

And I never will. 

Ouch!, ouch, ouch, lying at the bottom and again looking up at the twinkling of someone else's stars, I think to myself.. It's true. It's true what they say. Love truly does hurt. 

Now I have blood all over my nice clean dirt. My loving Foxhole is never going to forgive me for this...

~~~~~~~~~

This was a metaphor for social connections. (mine) 

Metaphors can be a good way of understanding, coping, obfuscating, and/or manipulating reality. 

Reality?, what really is that anymore? In the minds of the people today they use celebrities as metaphors for what they truly wish their reality is and then find a way to bridge it into their reality. 

Reality is pure dirt. At one moment rich, healthy, and capable of growing the most wonderful things. Sometimes that dirt can get into the gears of your dreams and screw up the engine of your desires. At others, it's only suitable for burying things.

 You can manipulate both but you can only truly control one.

 To that end I will love my Foxhole and I will dig deep into the dirt...