MAKE IT OFF THE BEACH
It’s the 6th of June 1944, as the wave’s splash over, washing down on me;
I hold my journal tight, as we approach the beaches of Normandy.
It is my mission to log and record all the soldiers that die;
Mist and fog hides the beach at first, as dark clouds drift across the morning sky.
The metal door falls open into the waves, as the soldiers wade through the sea, trying to make it to the sand;
Bullets immediately fire into the waters, as all the other boats shore up onto the land.
Everywhere I look I see flashes of light, followed with screams of pain;
I hide behind the piling dead bodies, as I store away their dog tags, I had removed from there chain.
A solider next to me is screaming for help, his eyes lock with mine, his begging for me to save his life;
He screams “I DON’T WANT TO DIE, I HAVE 2 DAUGHTERS, A SON AND A WIFE”.
As I reach my hand out to his, a bullet flashes past, tearing through his chest;
I pull him a little closer, as i grab his dog tag and place it with the rest.
Blood starts seeping down the sands, making their way back to the sea;
The waves seemed to break with red, as they crash down in front of me.
I crawl from my hiding place of bodies, the air is filled with screams and cries;
Some of the wounded are saying there prayers, whilst some of the less fortunate souls, are already saying their goodbyes.
Another scream for help sees me running, but I feel a flash tear through my dream;
I have been shot through the back, as blood and pain make me drop to my knees to scream.
Silence falls across the sands, as my journal tumbles away, just out of my reach;
I rise up into the heavens, as I finally make it off the beach.