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another war induced poem

Sitting on our helmets, we ate our rations,
Telling him of my sweetheart, who’s kind and bright,
I joked with my friend, as he told me his passions,
He loved his wife and baby, morning, noon, and night.

Just minutes after the air raids sounded,
Hearing the Junkers, dropping its message of hate,
The body count had drastically mounded,
And I yelled to my friend, to little to late.

Ignoring the heart wrenching screams nearby,
I must pass by, my fatally wounded friend,
Walking amongst the men as they die,
To save a stranger from his untimely end.

As I patched up the soldier, I thought in my head,
What’s there to gain, my friend is dead.