The Soldier's Death
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I smell the coppery, sweet scent of blood;
where a soldier died, his face in the mud.
I mourn the soldier's death.
War is a putrid, expanding abyss
where finding food and water feels like bliss.
I mourn the soldier's death.
I fight a war I know cannot be won
amidst all this carnage, I am but one.
I mourn the soldier's death.
God has forsaken and abandoned me,
silently ignoring my anguished plea.
I mourn the soldier's death.
For a child soldier, life is stripped of fun,
fearing the killing will never be done.
I mourn the soldier's death.
My mind is numb; I cannot shed a tear,
there is nothing left inside me but fear.
I mourn the soldier's death.
I wish I had wings to soar through the sky,
I'd leave in a heartbeat if I could fly.
I mourn the soldier's death.
My prospects look murky; nothing is clear,
I will be lucky to survive out here.
I mourn the soldier's death.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018
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