Almost Poem by Thomas Ware

Taking your shot, and missing your mark,
Time after time, flashes illuminate the dark,
And still the enemy comes, failure just keeps coming,
Spent shells litter the ground, and you can't hit nothing.
He moves closer, knife flashing, gun holstered,
He knows you'll miss, but you lunge forward, veins open,
Blood spurts in a deadly fountain, red rain,
But he guts you with his last breath, you feel pain,
Surprisingly little, the end is too quick,
The satisfaction of beating him is magic,
But as your eyes shut, shadow falls, you look up,
The dead man is not dead, he's getting up.