Brush With Death

This poem is dedicated to all those who have fallen in battlefields for their respective countries. May they never be forgotten for the sacrifice they gave.

Every day on the frontline of a battlefield,
soldiers have a brush with death.
Some lose, others win,
and for the others death will have to wait.

Each morning they wake up to see the dawn
never knowing if this is the last one.
They think of their families
who wait for them on a distant shore.

They say life is a survival of the fittest,
but death never sees it that way.
It does not matter how weak or strong you are.
If death chooses you to fall, you will.

Therefore, our soldiers go to war
to where the battle lines are drawn.
All of them hope, but not expect
to wake up to see another dawn.

30 April 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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