(Philosophy War/Poem) Young Soldier


Young Soldier

When we were young did we not all play

Pretending to be generals and sergeants

In our backyards or barns filled with hay

 

President Mom calling a truce

To fill our bellies with hot biscuits and ham

No foul, no harm, no spills I guess

When young, is not time and the world

Your personal sandbox of new thrills

17 am I now not a macho-he man

Jungles and deserts I now low crawl

With M-16 with M-203 in my hands

I hold my breath and tweak my sight

With one finger I squeeze the trigger

Now one less breath, one less man

 

As the earth inhales the blood

To me just one more notch

One more trophy on my butt stock

As his last breath leaves with the wind

 

Is there blood on my conscience

For the blood on that’s on hands

Not knowing that my temple

Is the target of this mans friend

17, my life is over before it began

 

 

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