BRING 'EM HOME
By Ryan Smith, Army
Writing Type: Poem
The sun is so hot like the rifle in my hand.
I've been shooting for hours here in the sand.
My targets go down.
My targets are man!
Kill or be killed, my adrenaline flows.
Where's the next bomb, nobody knows?
It's hunting season here, but they're not shooting deer.
They're killing my brothers that the President sent here.
Just lending a hand to this dangerous land,
and the price for our help is the falling of man.
Support the troops; make this stand.
Bring them all home to the Promised Land.