Looked down to see his boots, faded blue pants, faded blue shirt, bag which hung at his waist.
He felt about his head for his unfitted, tight, blue cap.
He looked at his rifle that he clutched,
He was a soldier.
He heard voices yelling all around him,
He realized he was in a line with people dressed exactly like him,
They began to walk forward at once,
He was a proud soldier.
They walked at a steady pace across the field.
It was infused with smoke, haze, and the screams from people dressed exactly like him.
He stepped over a person he once called friend,
He was a courageous solder.
Violent scenes filled his eyes,
But he did not think,
He did not cry.
He was doing his job.
He was ready to die.
He stopped walking, and so did his line.
They sat there for a moment, and before he could begin,
The man he call brother, fell by his side,
Motionless at his feet, he still did not cry.
More voices shouted and he raised his gun,
He looked at an enemy, about his age maybe, definitely some.
He gathered his thoughts of what he was about to do,
He heard a voice, and knew what he had to do.
He pulled the trigger and with a click,
He woke up in his bed with a start and a fit,
Realizing he was alone and that he now felt unfit,
Began to cry for those he is not with.
He was a proud soldier once.
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I have no idea why I wrote this. It's like 12:15 at night and it kind of just came too me.
YOU ARE READING
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PoetryWelcome to my mind and the story which is unfolding in it. If you see one you like, Vote for it! It helps me know which one you are enjoying to read and will help me hone my writing for what you prefer to see! Thank you for looking Cover art by: @Lu...
