A foul sight to see, war is.

The horrid sight of a field, once welcome with liveliness and beauty,

now pillaged with bullets that show no mercy, 

that stop for nothing but flesh or a beating heart

I thought I knew war,

until I ran through a smoke screen of gun powder that filled 

my nose with an overwhelming rancid smell.

I thought I knew war.

I thought I knew the pain of my companion,

who I ate with, laughed with, grew up with,

falling to his knees with one last helpless ear-splitting cry.

I thought I knew war until it showed up on my doorstep

with a musket and a merciless, cold scowl played upon its lips.

I thought I knew war, 

until I felt the butt of the rifle against my shoulder,

aiming with sheer intent to end another human life.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

I thought I knew war.