Too Many Gone

here I am
sixteen years old
stuck on the front lines
with an old rifle in hand
why did I fake my age?
why did I come?
I wanted to fight
for what's right
but I'm too young
I'm only a kid.

a bomb whistles past
and lands close by
I know now
that I am condemned to die
blood drips on the ground
I think it's my own
where are you mom?
I can't seem to remember your face
where are you dad?
please come back to me
sis? brother?
I love you all.

a messenger boy
goes to the white house
with red shutters
and a tire swing on the tree
and knocks on the door
it is a sad message he brings
of a soldier in battle
who died in action
for his country.

the blue star in the window
is sadly replaced
by a golden one
and the family inside
hugs
remembering their lost soldier
they want to know his last thoughts
if he felt any pain
if he knew he was dying.

the poor messenger boy
can't give any answers
he shakes his head sadly
and leaves the house silently
he holds another telegram
telling of another soldier
who died for his country.

there are too many gone.

-More war poetry, this time from the homefront.-

<3 - brittany