We fought on the frontier.
The lush forest became a labyrinth, laying the groundwork for our tombs.
Food was scarce, water deprived, and the shelter, hollow as our bones.
Our flintlock muskets were of no use compared to the wrath of the indigenous people.
Corpse laid in the thick brush of the pine, but we prevailed.
We fought on hallowed ground.
Volleys of cast iron rained from the sky, blacking out the sun.
Limbs flung across the ramparts.
Our Spring Model Rifles pierced the flesh of our brothers.
The carcasses piled up high in the fields and on the bastions, but we prevailed
We fought in the trenches.
Artillery shells laid waste to all God’s creation.
Suffocated, we fired our Doughboy Rifles aimlessly, in the fog of war.
Our Russet Marching Shoes became caked with all the filth and vermin of battle.
Shells of former men were buried in the sinking earth, but we prevailed.
We fought on the archipelagos.
The enemy’s bugle did not waiver when we arrived, it grew louder.
It took two bombs to sever them, for our M1 Garand Rifles could not touch them.
The flesh burned off the living.
Ashes of men powdered the land, but nevertheless we prevailed
We fought in the jungles.
Prometheus's gift became an indelible sin.
The bombardment never stopped, for the enemy never stopped.
Carrying our M16 Assault Rifles, the very things we fought for turned their backs on us.
Swamps of anatomy floated in the bog, but we did not prevail
We fought in the desert.
Cultures lashed their grievances against themselves, and we were burdened to break it up.
Bombs exploded in the cities, in the towns, in the villages, everywhere.
M16 Rifles cannot shoot down ideas.
Bodies became as lost as Ozymandias masterpiece. Did we prevail?