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He roams the war torn country
with his gun in his hand,
shots ring out and
he finds somewhere to take cover.

His comrades are elsewhere
fighting off snipers
upon rooftops of nearby buildings.

The shooting has stopped,
the war has taken
its toll on the lonely soldier,
he sits upon a rock
and sets his gun and helmet
on the ground beside him.

He holds his head
in his hands and cries,
his heart longs to go home.

Home away from all the death
that has surrounded him.

Copyright Cynthia Jones
Apr.30/2004