The Faintest Plea
We strike tomorrow.
Our fate is sealed.
My wife and children pray.
For me, for my safety.
Restless in the barracks reserve.
My legs tremble.
Certainly from fear.
I'm not excited at all.
My bed creaks,
Mimicking my moans.
My whole body aches from anxiety,
I feel as though there is no air.
No air,
Nothing to breathe.
What's the point?
It's tainted by sin anyway.
Sin flows through the airless sky.
It fills our lungs,
And clouds my eyes.
Sin will win this war, a sole survivor.
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