The Night's Scars

Why should I worry when
Gunshots ring out throughout the field
Warning, reminding, constantly repeating
Marking the night with invisible punctures.

I count them as I sit on the mud, as the next day comes:
A puncture for Michael, he was buried yesterday.
Zachary cried - it was a first of many.
Another puncture for Colin - the first one down.
He was left to die in no-man's land, yet we ignored his cries.
10 more punctures for anyone at the other side,
Our enemies, yes, but soldiers, too.
I try to brush away the guilt as I count -
8, 9, 10; we're planning a surprise attack in dawn.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 months I've been here
Deaths and despair, the start of the night's scars.
I simply just count, expecting everything and nothing as it comes.
Why should I worry when any day could be the last
And I'll only be one of the many punctures in the dark sky?
And one way or another,
I am losing part of who I was, and will be?

And so,
I continue, and count in advance:
1 more puncture for myself.
A mark of another soldier - fighting.
Hoping.