fish

Thursday, 29 November 2012

war scences poem


Waiting

Young, scared kids fleeing with terror.
Thick, dense smoke fills my nose as I quietly wait until the time is right.
Gun shells clanging against                           solid, hard ground.
Burning, sweltering heat from the hot,   deadly explosions just metres ahead of me.
Black charcoal grinds through my chipped, unbrushed teeth.
I think that if I make it out alive I will be the luckiest soldier on earth.

Jake Johnston

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