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Poetry
Shells exploding above my head.
The Sargent is yelling.
Am I going to die?
Grenade! Someone yells.
Dirt in my eyes.
Am I going to die?
My body hugs the ground.
Glazed eyes stare at me.
Am I going to die?
Gun trembles in my hand.
Eyes sting with sweat.
Am I going to die?
Smoke so thick.
Are there snipers?
Am I going to die?
Sarge yells again.
Time to move out.
I am going to die.
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