He was a nice Looking guy.
Proper and fit. HisClothes hung nicely
On his strong-built body
His life was happy.
TRAGEDY
STRUCK
I was him. He is me. I walk in
A line. The same dreary thoughts running
Through my head over and over and over
Again. As we march through The woods
To attack from behind. Our own
Broth- ers. A noise rings through
My ears. The first bullet fired.
My heart stops as behind me,
In front of me, next to me,
Release the weapon of death in this
Tragic War.
What am I doing? This isn’t me.
Yet I shoot my gun,
Killing brothers of mine.
Then, I feel a cold chill
Run up my spine. An
Empty hole in my heart. My
Knees collapse beneath me
And I Fall, a crippled
Heap on the cool, damp
Grass. No one sees
Me. No one cares. My
Vision turns black. No
Hope of a Light. Heaven,
an impossible dream in the
Horrors of this war.
