"Brothers"

A poem about the Airborne forces that stand ready to defend our nation daily.

Our faces are grim, now covered in paint,
Each man prays, each to his saint.

Equipment is checked, nothing left to chance,
Death spares none in this aerial dance.

The planes lift off, and the engines roar,
Eyes are all forward, boys no more.

The small talk now dies, and it’s such a shame,
They've realized that it’s no longer a game.

Black sky turns to fire and we feel the heat now,
Sweat drips fast from each ones brow.

Wings on their shoulders, all rounds are now live,
Have the angels guide us, Lord, whether dead of alive.

Author's Note

- Any and all critique welcomed

Reviews

[child-of-promise]

not so much critique do I have, but more praise...

ah, the tears, the tears... I'm young and I don't think about sacrifice enough... especially about the sacrifice those "boys no more" are making...
this sort of put things in perspective...

good, good