Poem:

The warm breeze swirls around my head

The mosquitoes dance lightly to its beat

It is a summer’s day, I should be at work

But I am here in the midst of a battle of dignity

My purpose unknown, other than death

I am nothing but a tool of war

Whose nation relies on my finger

To pull the cold, silver trigger

When the time comes

To bring down as many men

Whose lives have been marked with war

Before they do the same to me

If I die, I will be like every other soldier

Who lies slain on the battle field.

Picture from: http://www.old-picture.com/civil-war

/pictures/Battlefield-Gettysburg-Dead.jpg