Paul J Penton – Songwriter

Lieutenant – Daily Object Writing- Dec 28

Black boots on parade, spitted and polished until they’re shiny mirrors. Silver show buttons chiming in the morning like Sunday church bells. Marching round a square, footfalls in unison crunching through breakfast cereal asphalt. Discipline, discipline, discipline. Drilled deeper than Texas. Structure of command – following orders as natural as blinking, aim, fire, shoot as easy as pointing a remote control. Drilling deeper, all the way to the South pole. When the Lieutenant gives a command, it will be obeyed his will be done.

A demi-God, behind a chair in an office occasionally in the field making decisions about the pawns, about the men, about the sacrifices to be made in the craze of battle. Bullets hissing past, machine guns breathing bullets and spitting them out . Percussion bass drum explosions shaking the core of everything until ears ring continually. He holds the rudder, steers the ship, sees the target, follows his orders, his direction. He too a well heeled dog. The taste of responsibility is as exiting as buttered toast but he eats it for breakfast every day – does his duty. He feels his way through jagged orders and spikey minefields leading the men to another victory with the smell of expired shell casings and cordite from exploded shells hanging in the air. He looks back behind when the objective is reached, sees a litter of wasted humanity – so many have died for so much – but for each maybe a hundred , maybe a thousand are saved- the weight of command presses in like a heavy North Atlantic storm, clouds weigh tons as he thinks of the letters he will be writing home, about how your son fought bravely…….