The Pacific Theater

Your hardened eyes reflect the equal gaze 

Of a man you were trained to make dead.

His body has lead holes that form a maze,

Each spawning rushing rivers of ripe red,

You are full of another bullet type.

The blood sinks into your white stars and stripes,

Just as his seeps through a red rising sun.

You glance at the grey muzzle of his gun,

Which is stoic'ly staring at your chest.

O Silence watches on, as life's short quest

Continues to leak to its end for both men.

You draw your own grey loaded weapon then,

He gives you a nod that you fast return,

Two gunshots echo as one...hastened end.