Whispers In The Wind Poem by Joshua Grosshans

The Bullets and the Explosions sound far too distant
Even though the sounds sound like they’re right here next to me I know they aren’t.
All I hear is the low whisper of the people I once knew
Shouting up to the sun we are only a few.
My wounds have scared but the memory is still fresh
I can see the bullet go through my friend’s chest
I can see the horror in his eyes as his life slips away with his last breath.
Not a person in the world should have to fight this fight
And all we ask for is it to become night and our release
Because only then will the bloodbath cease
Names of the people I stood with in hell
Have all but gone with the sound of the bell.
I scream for a medic as I take a hit but little do I know
That I am the last of my forty men left and I’m now alone.
The sound of shuffling feet bring me back
And I thank God every day I made it home from Iraq.
Looking around I see that my battered body can mend
But my friends’ voices remain just whispers in the wind.