It's hard sleeping, in the field,
The squeaky noise,
Of the track vehicles,
Keeps one alert.

The bombardment, up ahead,
In the darkness of the night,
Illuminating the heavens,
Along the horizon,
Sound traveling, as rolling thunder,
Reaching us with a chill.

As we silently, say a prayer,
For our friends,
Whom are closer to the battlefield,
Then we are, for the moment.

One can't help, but pity,
The lost souls caught,
In the misfortune,
As casualties of war.

The stench of burning tires and fuel,
From exploding bombs, tanks, and vehicles,
The sight of a few, honorable enemy soldiers,
Met their destiny,
As unrecognizable figures,
Chard on the sand.

Back home,
Demonstrations, are organized,
Against our presence here.

Those who volunteered,
Marines, Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen,
Have sworn, to lay down their lives,
Making sure America,
Won't become a battle ground,
"Once Again."

By: William Bonilla.....3/21/03


*****Our freedom, is the envy,
Of the rest of the world,
Those who can't have it,
Go out of their way, to destroy it.*****