By _Hawk_ 3 Comments
Kinda lame but it was written in like 2 mins.
He stands with his hands held high
A roar comes out his mouth and up to the sky
I has come to face his fears, through sweat and tears
His hands dig in the dirt, wipe them on his shirt,
The grim and the mud, the spit and the blood.
His grip never fails, though he stands in hell
The cost his high and it takes all his pride
To stand and fight, whether wrong to right,
The finger squeeze, the sub-sonic speed.
The recoil and the gun powder smell
The burn and the chest and a man who fell
As he pooled in blood, and baked in the Iraqi sun
The flag turned red and once again a solider was dead.