PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I stare across the battlefield,
I take in the death, and destruction,
I see the bodies of young men,
Strewn about hapazzardly,
By bombs, mines, and grenades,
I start to walk through it,
I walk through the blood and grime,
I stop and stare at a yong face,
Bloodless and contorted in agony,
How many times have I seen this,
I asked myself that everyday,
And I remember that it could be me,
With another standing over my corpse,
Yet here I am,
Decorated with medals,
Called a hero of war,
My nation looks to me,
As inspiration and defender,
But all the medals say,
Is how lucky I am,
And how unlucky others have been,
We all understood what we asked,
We knew this would lead us to a grave,
But still we pressed on,
Through hell and back again,
And I am the only one left,
And I am named a hero,
But the real heros died out there,
In the pits and rubble,
Of cities and villages,
Yet all they see is the medals,
The scars,
And they're damn proud of me.