Death of my battle

I walk up and down the battlefield. Seeing my comrades drenched in blood from the job of a gun. "Help my brother help" says a friend of mine. I keep walking. I don't stop. Another cries for help and release of the agony and pain caused by a gun. I keep walking. The sun beams down on them as they all take their final breath. I keep walking. I walk and I walk. Then here I am. Shot down. With the same gun who shot my comrades. After I say my last words. I put the gun down close to me for the next man to carry. The death of me and others in my own field, with my own battle. As we know I did them and myself a favor. We weren't going to make it in this harsh world.