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They march back and forth always taking aim and fire. Holding their breath. Always afriad of whats ahead. SCared and lonely we march.


Submitted:Oct 13, 2008    Reads: 146    Comments: 6    Likes: 1   


My helmet slides down my eyes.

I hold the butt of the rifle of mine.

I hear the groans of the wounded.

I see all the remains of the tortured and turn away.

They removed their eyes, tongues, fingernails.

Why can't they just fire and leave.

To much horror to see.

Snipers watching our every move.

Machine-gunners firing their bullets that follow our tail.

Bomb shells that explode when they meet the ground next to us.

People exploding into pieces.

Guts and their intestines rush out.

Blood bleeds.

Our heart soaked with dark horror.

No where is safe.

At nighttime, we crawl into our holes and wait for them to come.

Many stabbed to death.

Slices and cuts on their necks and chests.

What a mess it has been.

Only comfort, is the memories we have savored.

Saved the good memories before our deaths.

When the cold hits us and let's us be.

No more dying.





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