Inside his mind is spinning, outside he's calm, collect.
He knows he cannot show his fear, his mind cannot reflect.
His soldiers need him steady, like a boulder on a hill.
His soldiers need to know that their leaders prepared to kill.
Bullets flying from the left bombs blowing on the right.
Despite the fact that he's in panic, he shows no fear all night.
His eyes as still as water, as they scan calmly through the dust.
His soldiers have his back he knows, his soldiers he can trust.
But he doesn't faulter, doesn't slow or skip a beat.
His commands fly ever faithful though he's planted firmly on his feet.
His soldiers stutter and shaking, only muzzle flash fills the air.
Though Noone understands how their Sargent barely shows a care.
With bullets whizzing past him he somehow remains at peace.
Bedazzled by his calmness, it brings their worries to an ease.
With blood slowly dripping from his shaking, strong left hand.
He doesn't show the pain to them in that strange and foreign land.
He's lead them through the battle and then to safety.
His duty now is finished, he can finally be set free.
He falls there almost sudden, as he sees them all alright.
Now all those spirits speak of, the Sargent of the night.
His song is sung all over, from barracks far and wide.
The night that Sargent saved them, from the darkened desert tide.
©jarnmarr
J