The Man and his Rifle

For school we had to write a poem about war, my teacher thought this was crap. Is it?

The coldness of the steel barrel of the gun
Sitting solemnly in my hand
Waiting for the enemy to arrive
Softness beneath my feet from the sand

Waiting for our vicious deaths
With our rifles burning red
The sea slashing and bellowing beside us
Like a dog waiting to be fed

We saw the enemy coming
Closing in on us
Raising our rifles up, aiming straight ahead
Our target was clear, no need to fuss

My fingers on the trigger
Waiting to shoot
The bang from the rifle
Makes the mans scream go mute

The smoke rising from my raw rifle
My target knocked off the ground
The blood seeping from the man
And his heart no longer pounds

All the men surrounding him
Drop dead in my sight
Boys blood in the sand
I know this will be a long night