A Soldier’s Last Breath

A rugged face,
A stone cold surface
Covering a dark, deep, sombre pool.
A large forehead
with brooding lines of worry engraved on it
and a raw wound peering out
from behind a tuft of filthy hair,
into the battlefield, that is this world.

A pair of emerald eyes,
like gems seated on a dusty gravestone.
They have seen the sparkle of youh
and the shimmer of laughter.
They have felt the warmth of a loving embrace,
yet all that is forgotten,
For what remains etched in their memory are
the flames of animosity and enmity
and their charcoal ashes,
The raging whirlwind of anger
and its ruins.
These eyes, they have witnessed
toerrents of crimson and seething pools of tears,
Saddness at its peak and
happiness being cast away.
In front of them
the sunny ray of hope has diminished into
a tiny speck in the nigtht sky,
The glow of youth and laughter
simmer away into oblivion
And the warmth of a loving embrace
become a frail smile on a starnger’s face.
A last breath in drawn heavily,
As all colour fades away,
A vast expanse of freedom lies
in front of those emerald eyes,
Freedom from the battlefield,
that is, this world.
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