You expect me to care,

not laugh in your face as I dare.

What I am supposed to do is run.

Not learn how to fight, to shoot a gun.

This is a war we are fighting

and I will not stop until my side has won.

You will not claim victory,

for my sword shall always cut you down.

He had no idea what to feel. Happiness or sadness; joy or anguish? His heart once so full of emotion felt torn.

Days go by and more battles bloody the world.

Some don't know what it is they fight for,

others believe they have a cause

that has not yet been destroyed.

The fight has not been won nor lost.

Dawn arises, war cries ensue, then

Night, cold and mournful, comforts the bereaved.

Tears of pain. Cries of joy. Sorrow at the loss of life or happy to be alive? Shall he run or shall she stay to fight another day?

Bombs go off with an orchestra

of machine-gun fire.

The situation is becoming dire,

he fears his life may soon expire.

This last day of war is extremely glum.

No one can see through the fog where

the enemy is coming from.

Men who were standing have now fallen.

Hope has slipped out of grasp.

Relapse back into old depression. Hate the pain the world must undergo. It is time to depart, to go to a place. A place very far away.

Retreat! Retreat!

Today we face defeat!