An Uncertain Death

The war was not god's fault.
But still I question him,
Why was my blood needlessly discarded;
and why do my dreams go unfulfilled?
Were they even real, I ask myself, as I view the sun.
It stands still, but yet shaking like a butterfly.
It has been ensnared. The sky turning purple then red,
a crimson crayon drawn by an ominous hand.
My death is unnecessary.
My family watches, eyes filled with tears and something like terror.
They will not forget the day when time sank like a rock,
but still their hands try to grasp at time,
to grasp me as I began to slip away.
This war has confirmed their deepest fears,
a deathly pale shadow that threatened them
with a quivering hand now takes due.
My body goes numb, I can no longer feel.
My heart seems stolen or hidden in the surrounding gas,
sending a chill forever with my departure,
and creating a slight wave in the currents of air.
The war cries through my soul and pours through my blood.
An uncertain flood spills over on a field
of death laying out a red carpet,
seeps into the soil and becomes food for the insects
and drowning shriveled plants.
Why, oh why has the grim fate collected me with its sharp bony fingers?
A sudden hand on my shoulders to remind me of time,
a time I would delightedly forget even now.
The sound of squealing bullets ring and whine within my ears,
piercing the deafness and fading into the clouds of my mind.
But i don't think about all the other bodies lying so close
or the stench of smoke and sweat,
maybe even death.