From the ramparts and to the shore we many soldier ran.
A shroud of darkness consumed the sky, in turn consumed the land.
Bullets flying over head and into the chest of men.
For many of us we will fight another day, for some this is the end.
The craters made from mortars impacted omit a Sandy glow.
I gazed at it for but a moment before another mortar blow.
The concussion from that metal ball of flame had flung me to the ground.
There's no atheists upon this beach, every man is religion bound.
Skin color doesn't matter here, death comes for us all the same.
It's heart breaking to think that men will die for another rich man's gain.
But here we are nonetheless fighting monsters some never see.
For a chance that our loved ones may truly know what it means to be free.
Snapping back to reality as I lift myself up from my knees.
This ringing deep within my ears is pounding, to say the least.
Rising to my feet now, my rifle slowly finds its place.
Brought up to my right chin and shoulder, another life is erased.
The screams of men thought to be legends are curdled with their blood.
And the blood that fills this Sandy beach makes an odd colored mud.
The battles nearly over and different monsters are now here.
The monsters are called PTSD and they only drown away in beer.
Tossing and turning in my bed, alone and so afraid.
I'm reminded every single night of the price those men had paid.
And I'm for reasons unknown to me, somehow still alive and well.
Why is it the men I served with have gone to heaven and I'm stuck inside this Hell?
©jarnmarr
J