Unbroken
It was over.
He could clear away
The metal instruments,
The scattered dressings;
The jacket
That would never be worn again.
He sighed;
So long a night.
He had done his best.
His skills, alas,
Despite vast experience
And knowledge,
This time,
Applied in vain.
~0~
A thin, stained blanket
Covered a form
Which almost
Seemed to be
Sleeping;
No longer in pain,
Silent,
Unmoving,
And at peace.
He rubbed
His red-rimmed eyes;
Despite fatigue
There were
Others to attend to.
Demand,
Thanks to the
Harsh necessities of war,
Continued,
And, perhaps,
Would never cease.
~0~
One more task
Before leaving.
It was important to
Record all the details
Of those final hours;
Actions
And reactions;
And every
Single
Word
Spoken.
He wrote...slowly,
And with great regret.
Name...
Rank...
Serial number...
Nothing more.
The major sighed again
In disappointment.
His prisoner
Had not
Broken.
~0~