War
By Andrew H
Published 1 September 2016
The bronze metallic plane,
It poked my hand,
The cold touched my nerves,
It was as cold as my fantasy Iceland.
Tears rolled down my cheeks,
Bringing back memories,
Of death and pain,
Like my past surgeries.
Memories of brave and courageous men,
Serving for their land,
Being shot to the ground,
Buried under the dirt and sand.
The deafening sounds,
The horrible sight,
Scared me for life,
With the blinding light.
I put down the plane,
I looked around,
How I survived the battle,
Brought nothing but astound.