Just an Expendable Soldier

I'm a soldier, I march into battle carrying my flag, my sole torn an weary.I shout my battle cry as I charge with my brothers into battle. As the flag flies and the bullets yell screech at times bodies littering the once peaceful field. Slowly turning red from green but ever more scared with blood. As the bullets and shells fly past me I hear the screams of my brothers as they die, the shells make holes in the ground turning the filed into a wasteland other parts look like mass graves. I see to my harts misery a dear friend blown to bits by an enemy shell his body rolls into a pit mutilated by the explosive. I hold strong to keep my already discouraged men hopeful to see the day throw, as we rest I count nine of the twenty men I once had at my command. There tired some are covered in blood it clings to their uniform. Their eyes are dead, in a desperate plead I rally them up and finally take the enemy positions on the hill. As I look down at the carnage that just passed over the last hour I see body's some mutilated others left to nearly nothing. I wonder was this worth it? Is any thing worth killing for? Or are we all just expendable for a rich mans sick game,