Becoming Ghosts
He was a ghost of a young soldier,
in war he died,
at home they cried,
he looked like a wreck,
exhausted and caved in,
eyes weary and dazed,
so much killing, but no sin,
mind confused and crazed,
his brown hair dirty and dull,
the war was draining,
he even forgot his training,
ignoring the explosions hitting the ground,
every few yards he hears the sounds,
he then hears the whines twisting together,
vibrating sound, and another pound,
the war growing louder,
the bombs shattering frowns,
voices drown,
mostly in pain,
everything around him, completely insane,
as shrapnel blew,
the fighting grew,
death was real, death was true,
he watched all that and didn’t know what to do,
the last thing he saw was a flash,
he then heard a crash,
and what worried him most,
was more and more soldiers becoming ghosts.
Copyright © Frank F. Atanacio | Year Posted 2009
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