He turned his head
Toward the voice
Into the half closed eyes
The boy who seemed not much older
Dirt streaked his hair
Sprawled his uniform glistened
Fresh blood
Colors of carnage
Crimson wetness on the fabric
Shreds of grass
"Water," he begged
Blood drenched the cloth
His arm was immobilized
Pain, ragged flesh, splintering bone
He took the metal container
Removed its cap
Waited for the pain to ease
Extended his arm
Across the blood soaked earth
Water trickled
Down his mouth and chin
This poem is made using the book The Giver by Lois Lowry