AM I THE NEXT TO GO?

Volleys of bullets heard all around.
Will I be the next to drop to the ground?
So many comrades perishing before my eyes
in an unnecessary way I’ve grown to despise.

Crimson blood seen upon my hands,
rebuilding a country at the President’s demands.
Loss of pride and soul once cherished so,
as I wonder if I’ll be the next to go.

I dream of home as the bullets fly.
Will I be the next to die?
God help me, I surrender to fear,
wondering what the hell I’m doing here.

Please tell me that it won’t be so,
That I won’t be the next to go
In a war where I feel so alone.
I want a life to call my own.