Speedhunch: The Man He Killed

   Two soldiers are at a standoff, two men enlisted to the army since they had no work, two souls with a life on the trigger finger of the other. 

Reading this poem for the first time in eighth grade really hit hard when I realised how we are merely holding on by a thin strand of 'humanity'. It's funny how even this dissappears under some great notions of patriotism where human lives are merely reduced to a number of collateral damage. 

   What makes the poem all the more memorable for me is how the poet speaks about his enemy. If it were not for the war he would have met him at a pub, talk about good times and get merry. Or perhaps he would have even helped him out for a crown or two, but then, he couldn't.

   If you notice the third stanza you realise the poem desperately trying to defend his actions. He was a human, but he was the enemy, right? The poet did not have a choice, he would have been dead otherwise if he hadn't pulled the trigger. But then, perhaps he was a bloke like him looking for a job and ended up on the wrong side of the barrel. The worrying reality today too being our almost instant nature of proving ourselves better than the other, makes us forget what it's like to have a respectful 

   To be honest dear reader, my words cannot represent this poem any better than the poet has. When you look at it, you realise that this is one of those poems which you read as a group and upon the last line everyone seems to be at a loss of words, treating the poem with the same silence the poet expects us to have. It is the tired sigh of dissappointment that we all share, no matter the age. War has shown one of the worst parts of what it's like to be human. Funnily enough, with a decent share of beautiful words like glory, patriotism, religion, fame and power, we keep on with the endless cycle of wars. Some watch it from a distance while setting up flea markets selling bombs and tanks, while there are others who got box seats watching the show eating popcorn, hurling curses at their own teams failures. 

   However on the frontlines we have the poet, whose war will never end reminiscing about his friend who he killed. The foe meanwhile shall be engraved to a hero's stone to commemorate his 'greatest' achievement in life, death by a friend. 

 Come to think of the title dear reader, who was the man the poet killed? Sure, a supposed friend but in the bigger picture, wasn't it the poet himself who was killed by the shot? He was no longer the man he was the second after the bullet hit the mark. Even as he returns home does he ever get to live again? And most importantly if the poet hadn't shot would humanity be worth anything without a body to bear it?