Echoes of War

In the battlefield's grim and somber fold,

A young man fought, his heart both brave and bold.

The night was fierce, the gunfire wild and bright,

Amidst the chaos, shadows danced in fright.

His comrade close, his friend through thick and thin,

Together they had faced hell within.

But fate, it seems, had woven cruel design,

A bomb’s cruel blast would shatter their entwine.

No warning gave, no mercy in its flame,

It tore the night and swept them from the same.

Hundreds of feet apart, the blast did throw,

The silence followed, filled with anguished woe.

His friend lay still, the life force ebbing out,

The young man’s cries were met with echo’s doubt.

He reached, but found no pulse, no breath, no light,

A shroud of death had claimed his friend that night.

In guilt’s cold grip, his heart was firmly caught,

To save him, he had in vainly fought.

The haunting shadows whispered in his ear,

Of blame and sorrow, of relentless fear.

By day he walked, a shell of what he’d been,

By night, the ghost of war would draw him in.

His friend’s pale specter, eyes like hollow void,

Would visit him, the bonds of peace destroyed.

In dreams, the battlefield arose anew,

The screams, the smoke, the blood-red dew.

His friend would reach, a silent plea of pain,

The young man’s soul was bound by ghostly chain.

The gothic air, it thickens round his bed,

Where shadows twist, and mournful thoughts are fed.

No comfort found in light or gentle breeze,

His heart, encased in sorrow’s dark disease.

The bomb, a demon’s breath, had torn apart,

Not just their bodies, but the young man’s heart.

He walks the world, a wraith among the living,

To his lost friend, his life, his all, he’s giving.

In silence screams, in darkness seeks reprieve,

For guilt, like death, is never quick to leave.

And so he roams, in war’s eternal night,

A ghost himself, devoid of hope’s fair light.