Death Is A Disease

I crouch inside this muddy trench.
Death is a disease.
I'm clouded by smoke
With a feeling of unease.

I hear a scream.
A cry. A plea.
But none of this
Reaches me.

I'm firing at another man.
Trying to survive.
But does it really matter
Wether I live or die?

The shell-shocked men.
Harsh bright light.
I used to care
About this fight.

Bullets whizzing
Rolling dice.
Men praised for
Their sacrifice

I feel a pain
And look to see
The blood spreading
Steadily.

I crouch down low
And call for aid.
But by the time they come
I'm laid

In the mud.
On the floor.
This is how we die,
We heroes of war.

I get up slowly.
Painfully.
I stand up and fire.
Death comes for me.

I shake him off.
Scream and cry.
But I have no choice.
I was born to die.