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The handsome young man of twenty-one Tightened his grip on the small hand-held gun. He had been chosen to fight in the war (The cause of which he was fairly unsure). He and his company were scouting the jungle When the soldier in front of him suddenly stumbled Onto a landmine, then came a loud noise: Draped near a tree was a leg of the boy’s. A captain gathered some grass, brush and hay, Covered the corpse, and led them away. Deeper into enemy territory they traversed When a flash in the sky caused them to disperse. Bullets now soared past the young man’s ears. The sight of comrades dying drove him to tears. He ran from the shots to a place he felt safe, Put down his gun, wiped the sweat from his face. He opened his mouth and started to yell, “Goddamn this war, we’re all going to hell! I’ve seen more men die than I care to count. Fuck you political bastards, I want to get out! I can never face my family again — They can’t ever know what a disgrace I’ve been, Fighting in a war that can bring no good, I should die right now, really, I should. Come get me, Charlie, I’m standing right here! Come shoot me know, I ain’t got no more fear!” No one came as he ranted and raved, So he picked up his revolver, one foot in the grave, And pulled the trigger as it rest against his head. His pain was over; at twenty-one he was dead. His body remains in that far-off land. The cause of his snap, no one still understands. Thus the handsome young man of twenty-one Ended his life before it had even begun. |