Their Waterloo

Rolling waves cascade down upon the crimson-colored stained sand.
Corpses strewn across a never-ending unforgiving beach.
The repetitive sound of gunfire is deafened only by screams.
Lives exstinguished before their comrade’s eyes
Young men dying, but never knowing the reason why
As the stench of death sends birds fleeing out to sea.
A wounded warrior cries out in pain. His fate is finely balanced
Before a mortar shell seals his demise.
The regiments chaplain, covering all denominations
Looks bewildered and distraught, not knowing which way to turn,
Drops to his knees to administer the last rites to all.
He includes himself, as the enemy ****** offers no mercy.
The night sky darkens as the sun retreats to shine another day
Gunfire quietly subsides until the only sound left
Is that of an angry night tide, lapping over the souls of those fallen.
In search of peace, they gave their all, as they met their Waterloo.