The Lonely Soldier

His clothes are muddy;
His face is wet.
He stealthily moves,
But cannot strike yet.
The trenches become a river,
As the soldier is cold and begins to shiver.
With the friends he's lost,
He's just one.
The soldier moves, with a feared courage,
Until his job is done.
From above, the strength he needs.
He moves through the sour trenches
With an infected wound that bleeds.
With a breathy silence,
He awaits--
Until the time comes
To strike the Devil's gates.
Through the eyes of a window,
The lonely soldier remembers--
The horrid details,
The burning embers.
The war we're in,
Our soldiers fight to defend
Our rights, our country,
Until our freedom's end.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem