For thousands of years wars have gone on.
The weapons have changed
but it's still the same song.
Bodies on the battleground pilled in a heap.
The ground drinks the blood as their wounds fatally seep.
The death toll is high but thousands will follow.
Even the survivors are dead...
their insides are hollow.
18 years old in the middle of hell.
Soon he will fall where others have fell.
Screams of pain as the rounds keep flying.
Some dodge the bullets while others die trying.
He silently watches from behind a blockade.
His hopes and dreams are beginning to fade.
Soon he will feel the "reaper's blade".
To return back to the ground from whence he was made.
One by one each man's number is called... all to die this day.
Every soldier conditioned to charge 'til they fall;
he too will march into death's fray.


Poem copyrighted by Bo Bandy.

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