BATTLEFIELD

As heavy as I stand, I could never cross the line of battle. Having a rifle in my hand is a scary thought. What if I may use it, possibly taking a life. How could I take it; it seems impossible to be able to sleep after that. These battlegrounds are dangerous, surrounded with soldiers ready to die for our cause. What does that mean? Our cause, is it something we say to make ourselves the hero. Or are we dieing for no cause. I feel the vines of a Nero. I'm so scared to go to sleep, I have the same dream every night. The enemy hovering over me with his rifle to my head. Standing, looking dead into my soul, until I hear a loud "bang" with Internal darkness. Did I make the right decision coming to the force? I don't know anymore, I don't want to go to war. I don't want to die. Please God, let this be a dream, this is not who I want to be. "Oh no" I hear guns blazing. This is it for me. It's my time to go on the battlefield one last time. If I don't make it back alive, I love you all......goodbye.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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