Soldier And His Gun

He walks with pride as he marches down
the enemy line.
Holding his gun high above all.
He kneels and takes aim, to the ones that
killed half of the platoon.

Standing with pride he hit his mark, where his aim
came to rest upon the foreheads of these enemies.
Without a turn, and without a smile he walked on.

Tears upon his face for his fellow Soldiers he saluted
and walked by.
They wanted to make him a hero, he said no, I am
a man that honors my country.

No medals, no shows I am just a man to save my country
again.
Give to the heros that died for our country, and many awards
for them dying as brave soldiers.

I weep into this night as these flashes come back to haunt my
nights.
I wake and see this all again, never will I forget those who
lay within this battlefield, blood seeps from their chest.
Those who cry seeking help.

The ones that die slow and all you see is the last breath they
take.
Those who call upon their mates to hold before that last breath
of air they consume.
All you can do is take a deep breath and inhale without tears flowing
from within.
The last soldiers cry.