To Die a Crimson Death

The weary soldier presses on,
Even though his comrades are gone.
Drearily shuffling to and fro,
The general urges them to go, go, go.

He lines up, his order changes all the time.
The poor soldier has not even earned a dime.
Shots echo in his ear.
Black bullets drawing near.

The wound drips; covered in crimson blood,
The pain feels like a flood.
Sweeping away everything in sight,
All it brings is terrifying fright.

The surgeon takes out his tools,
Why was the soldier such a fool?
To go out and fight,
To use all his might,
For a cause that isn’t just.
Now amputation is a must.

The soldier fantasies about his wife,
Wishing he hadn’t ruined her life.
He writes her a letter, telling her to move on,
Because soon he will be gone, gone, gone.

He lays back and sighs,
Thinking about his comrades that dropped like flies.
On the battlefield, malicious and cruel.
Why were they such fools?

His heart gallops toward it’s last beat,
As he sweats from the horrid heat.
Finally he goes out like a flame,
But there is no one else but him to blame.

The soldier died a crimson death,
As many others did with their last breath.
They all were valiant, brave they still are.
Nothing could be done, this all went to far.

They all died a crimson death,
As many others did with their last breath.
The surgeon sighs and begins to cry,
Over all the men that died a crimson death.