Helmet on, weapon in hand, one boot in front of the other-
as the brave and the bold marches towards the sound of thunder.

The Soldier, the warrior, the brother from another mother-
walking with his second family, as the world itself falls asunder.

As with most things in life, the Soldier and his brother’s never see it coming-
the explosion, the storm of armageddon, nor hear the sound of the drumming.

Reality disappears from view, the world suddenly becomes a blur-
the marching stops dead, because the hand of fate has taken over.

Ligthning has been unleashed, the depths of hell jet forth from the Earth-
the world has become shattered, the cost of war counts how much it is worth.

The man is now a Soldier, the Soldier is now the weapon,
the Soldier is now the full-realisation of his training and of his intuition.

The dust around him is choking, the smell of death is in the air,
and to the world that the Soldier now finds himself in the middle of nothing can compare.

The Soldier looks upon the entire universe, as it now appears to him;
but he has no time to look around and fully take in
the horror, the loss, his brother’s strewn in every direction-
nor is there a moment for him to stand still in reflection.
The Soldier takes in a breath, and then runs for cover,
through a storm being unleashed by the disciples of the Grim Reaper-
all the while with a purpose to survive and live to avenge the fallen,
and relay to his brother’s family the importance of their son.

After finding cover, the Soldier looks towards the machine of hate-
the allies of the architects of destruction, who could never truly relate
the true meaning of life, and the importance of the living;
the reason we need differences, but also the importance of forgiving.
To the Soldier his purpose is clear, to his weapon he now looks-
everything he anticipated about this moment, and everything he read in his books,
now comes into play and takes him through the motions
of ending another human being’s life, and the rush of hightened emotions.

The Soldier dies over and over with every bullet that he fires from his rifle,
and with every extinguished life the trigger becomes harder and harder to pull;
but the Soldier and his brother’s continue to fight with all that they are,
and over time the most recent wound of war ceases to bleed and turns into a scar.

After the hell of battle that he went though, after the pain of death over and over again-
the Soldier walks through the remains of carnage of the red shirt’s of the metal rain,
and as he looks upon the faces of his family, his brother’s, the reason for his being,
the Soldier knows that he will never get over the cost of life that he is now seeing-
but the Soldier knows that he can, and must, live with the actions of himself and others-
however the Soldier will never forget, nor disgrace, the memory and the face of his brothers.