A man the age of 24,

A man who will take no more,

Unbeknownst, steps through a door.

In an endless hell,

Sex will keep things sweet,

But escape remains a distant feat,

A broken heart, a heavy beat.

The hands of fallen, the gaze of all,

He stands tall, over bodies sprawled.

Yesterday he took a life,

Laid the man down and removed the knife,

Death’s taste lingered, bland and cold as ice.

Bullets rain throughout the days,

The men long to feel the sun’s rays.

Some men set themselves ablaze,

For warmth in war’s cold space.

They’re dying.

735 days, they’ve been dying.

An end was meant to come,

Before their eyes, their lives undone,

Victory sought, battles won.

They’re dying.

1,045 days, they’ve been dying.

A man the age of 27, time’s cruel jest,

Three birthdays passed, and he’ll live to see the rest.

Cold water’s touch, sweat drips from his brow,

Yet, a warm breath escapes somehow.

The whirling sound of a copter’s blades

After a long 1,905 days,

They’ve been saved.

And as the waves return to the sea, so the words give way to silence.

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