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Poetry from within
   

A Helping Hand


Blinking faintly just a spot

a distant light or maybe not

Is it them come back for more

or is it mates in teams of four



I crawl a bit to hide my form

and nearer still the light comes on

Nearer yet to me it gets

I check my rifle prepare for threat



Then quietly a voice I hear

“come on son, have no fear”

A friendly voice thank god for that

I prepare to move from where I’m sat



The voice gets nearer almost here

I know I’m saved I lose my fear

I see a person just ahead

ready to move (my legs feel dead)



Now I see him now he’s here

his face I know but still I peer

“I came to get you don’t be scared

your job is done, you’ve been spared”



I take his hand my legs now work

I stand beside him and start to smirk

I see some others coming through

there’s old man Stan and Connor too



And as I walk with him a while

I see more mates and start to smile

But all these mates weren’t they dead?

Have I been injured lost my head?



How obvious it soon became

Mohamed, Allah, Christ (just names)

Standing there with all my squad

The hand I took was that of God

Mac Macdonald