There, he hid alone,
In the dark, bleak, cold.
Seeking some warmth,
His arms were fold.
Dust and blood,
The scent of rain.
The terrible screams,
Made him feel pain.
He couldn’t see,
It was so dark.
But, within the darkness,
His blue eyes spark.
He breathed, for air,
He lost his leg.
He closed his eyes,
“Take me home” He’d beg.
In the long, cruel nights,
In the dark, full moon.
He would only remember,
The warm sun of june.
He had his share,
Of death, and blood.
His wet, ripped boots,
Were stuck, in the mud.
“No more pain,
No more death”.
He whispered to himself,
Struggling, for his breath.
As bodies piled,
He just felt broken.
A gasp, escaped him,
For their eyes, were wide open.
A smile, formed, slowly,
At the dark figure, before his eye.
And he knew, at once,
That he was going to die.
Was it death?,
That, he did not know.
He only knew,
That it wasn’t his foe.
The dark figure approached,
And whispered, in his ear.
“Don’t worry, Soldier,
It all ends here”.
“No more pain,
No more death”.
He said, with a smile,
As he drew, his last breath.
A poem about a soldier, accepting death as an old friend, in the WWII