A soldier's unfortune

War is a terrible thing, hard to take in life surrounded by death.

The cold night air is hot and hard to swallow.
Each step foward leaves another behind.
The sky flashes red,
illuminating mortal memories.
Green grass grows gray.


Behind, the faces of friends, shot and rotten.
Pushed to the back, not forgotten.
Ahead is hope, finally certain.
Ahead, I hope is not certainly final.
Green is gone, grief is gray.