A Good Father

This poem captures the final thoughts of a dying soldier in a war...

Amidst a pile of the wounded, I lie,

Thinking of us. For a short glimpse,

Before the light in my eyes fades away.

And as the spirit in my body breathes away.

The sea gets quieter, after wrecking havoc.

And so are our lives. There's no exception.

We drilled and dueled, day and night,

Now it's time to be put for some rest.

Life is like a box of chocolates,

You never know which bullet is marked.

But you know for sure, there's one,

And that shall take you to the land of none.

The way your thoughts pull you back.

They want to make you go home.

For a battleground, is no coward's place.

The one who stays, counts his days.

For a child to grow up without a father,

Oh! I have sinned, the agony's drinking my blood.

I am only left to mark my final words,

As I transition to the other world.

With all the power left in me,

With all the blood I have,

I am pouring my hearts and souls as I utter,

"If not for me, my son shall grow up to be a good father."