Sonnett Sundays: Life on the Battlefield
Bullet
tears like knives through butter
So
much pain, his heart starts to flutter
He
never signed up for this strife
Slowly,
he loses his crimson life
The
country had lost its glamor
Once
the bombs started to hammer
The
medic tries to do his best
But
soon he’ll take his final rest
Try
as he may, the blood won’t stop
Cleared
away from the napalm drop
Some
morphine was given to him
Pain
is gone, and the light grows dim
He
only went to Vietnam
To
serve his much-loved Uncle Sam
His
last hope is that it’s God he seeks
Away
goes the color in his cheeks

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