The Dying Solider

White clouds are changing into black,
Petrified of the fighter planes up above The dying solider lay on his back
He points his bruised fingers toward the sky
The thick black clouds take over his sight
He struggles to move his heavy leg While the sounds of sirens pass by The dying solider shuts his eyes…

A touch of luck comes his way
But thoughts of the shooting solider seem to stay He rocks his head to ease the pain
A warm breath heats the wounds on his face “We’re here, to make sure your okay.“
Sharp shrapnel stuck solidly on his leg
His vision all blurry but making out a shape
A big black outline getting bigger in his sight
“Run!” Bellowed a solider pulling me away
My life was over now, I am the dead solider.