Without the fear of dying

NOW, HEARING the silence as it DIES and FEARING the CRIES from the beach. In the blistering SUN, I grip my GUN, help does ENDOW, as allies are landing. Wind BLOWING as grenades explode, sand GLOWING, prayers beseech. TAUGHT to HATE, FOUGHT in a foreign LAND, bullets don’t ABATE, they’re flying. All that remains, to be FOUND in the SAND, a burial GROUND, demanding. A barrage of armament passed my HEAD, a scene only to DREAD, death defying. Taking PART, one can only REGRET, he thinks, better YET, and will be sighing. Man’s own HEART, the hand of FATE, all too LATE, only a few still standing. Suppose they gave a WAR and no one came or ever SAW, no one to fear dying.