the gunshots sound pitilessly leaving nothing in their aftermath but his void roar and the ground, glowing with the redness of his dead brother's blood
he's wounded too, but he does not expect saving or medical care (nor does he want it)
i watch him from afar as he falls; with his knees on the bombtrodden street (one that resembles one he once called his home, but he has no home now, only blood, and violence) and he gives in to death the moment he sees me
[they taught us not to look the enemy in the eye, but a second before I pull the trigger, I break the holiest of rules, and I see a soul just as lost as mine]
This was written in an English class this semester. The assignment was to write a piece of war poetry.