1
His face a white flag, knees quiver as they hit the ground.
Boom! The sound of the canon,another loss
Grass no longer green, instead a bleeding river flows through the thicket
Limp and cold, his body lingers. The dirty uniform tattered, saturated in his blood

2
Families bow their heads in silence;
Flowers thrown into the shallow casket, his name embedded onto the box in gold
The boy, frail and small, looks down and then up to his mother. Her eyes, dull and quiet.

3
Foggy and cold, unbearable to the human skin
The child wipes his eyes, caress the remaining of the tattered uniform
The parchment paper, held with the last of his father's words, lingered in his mind

4
“Yes Sir!” Hands linear across the forehead; back straight and sturdy
The tattered cloth dangled from beneath the boy's jacket
No longer tears of sorrow fall, this is redemption, this was war

5
The schoolboy who once misspelled his name a hundred times
Walked through the grass,a man
The river of blood begins to form, mud climbs up his thighs
And the smell of smoke burns his lungs
This is for you father, for you.