Nikkarr White

The Last Hero ©

He made his way with his dead squad,
Deafened by the roaring of the guns
Covered in bruises, scratches and the odd dropp of blood,
He shot the last enemy in his worn out lungs.

He made a prayer and looked around,
Saw dead bodies lying everywhere,
Nothing stirred, Not even a sound
He thought it was because he couldn't hear.

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