I Will Be Remembered.

I lay here in the field, wondering what went wrong.
The bullets go whizzing by my head, I wasn’t supposed to get hit.
The nurses and soldiers shuffle past looking for the injured.
They see some one moving and disregarded me, I’m only a dead body to them.
Then I remember,
I remember the bullet ripping through my chest. The searing pain comes back.
I feel the last heart beat, the one that marks the end of your life, the one thing that holds your hope of living another minute. But in the end it’s the last beat it will take.
And I realise I am dead.
Dead like the cold riffle against my chest.
Dead like the soldier beside me.
Laying in a field of blood and grass, hoping this load is soon lifted.
Knowing you’ve died makes you wonder will they miss me? Will I even be remembered?
I am dead because I wanted to serve my country, I wanted to make a difference.
I am lifted onto a stretcher, I see a friend crying .
And it sinks in I am dead, but I will be remembered.