Little Jimmy was only twenty
when he finally made the decision to ship off to the Army.
“Farewell my friends and family,” he said,
“When I return I shall not be boy but instead a man.”
Day zero he was proud to be a hero.
The steps of his father he followed
“I’m proud of you son,” his voice echoed,
but he treads this foreign land alone.
Day one he saw the horrors
the ugly truth behind close doors.
Bullets soar past his soul
each possessing a different role,
carrying the names of other souls.
Day two proved to be more cruel.
Said goodbye to a friend,
cried, wrote a memoir, and
learned what it meant to be human.
Day three he was shot in the artery
bled for his country, slowly.
Enrich the soil with his blood vessel.
Proud of his success
Congress saw him as one less useless peasant.
Day four everyone gather together
for his death to mourn.
Like father Like son.
That’s the effect of war.