Sonnet Sunday's: Life on the Battlefield

Bullet tears like knives through butter

So much pain, his heart starts to flutter

He never signed up for this strife

Slowly, he loses his crimson life

The country had lost its glamor

Once the bombs started to hammer

The medic tries to do his best

But soon he’ll take his final rest

Try as he may, the blood won’t stop

Cleared away from the napalm drop

Some morphine was given to him

Pain is gone, and the light grows dim

He only went to Vietnam

To serve his much-loved Uncle Sam

His last hope is that it’s God he seeks

Away goes the color in his cheeks