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Allison Marge May 2018
The series of gunshots
The smell of fire
The dead men who fought
The smell of war

In the midst was an injured man
Who sought cover behind a plank
And shot at his foes blindly as long as he can
Because they were loading a tank

Back home he had a child
Back home he had a wife
So he didn't want to die;
He just wanted to survive

He missed his wife's smile
He missed his son's laughter
The thought of dying
Made his face falter

His finger continuously pulled the trigger
Until he heard it click
He swore as he realized he was out of ammo
Fate truly was sick

But his thoughts ended abruptly
Just like his life
He fell backwards harshly -
A bullet hole between his eyes
Sorry if my poem is lacking. But I made this over a year ago. I used to think this was good, though.

— The End —