Marching up the hill with his fellow troops,
His insides are ready to burst with anticipation.
Growling and bubbling, his stomach seems to sound off as his hands quiver holding his rifle.
The soldier cannot turn back, as he must fight for his freedom against evil,
Though the art of having a choice has been long forgotten.
This soldier knows not of his fate.
He's petrified of what is to come,
Whether he survives or not.
If he dies,
He dies with honor,
yet he's not afraid of dying.
He's afraid of being forgotten.
If he survives,
He survives with honor,
Not expecting of a soul to recognize the sacrifice he has made for his own,
And failing to discover it as he lives on.
His beliefs are meaningless,
His pride is no longer relevant.
What requires quality is the strength to fight,
To fear no man aiming to take away his freedom,
And his life.
Facing what can be assumed as evil,
Yet never needing to know what true evil is really like.
The soldier has seen evil,
Evil awaits again willingly.
But he is not afraid.
This is more like it