War: A free-verse poem

I wrote a free-verse poem the other day for an assignment. The assignment was that I write a free-verse poem for one of four subjects: religion, sex, birth, or war. Well, I don't know enough about sex or birth to write a meaningful poem about it, and I know to much about religion to write about that (don't want to pick a fight), so I chose war. Don't know enough about it either, but I do know loss and can imagine it from a part-romantic, part-realist point of view. So here it is, simply titled, "War."

I stand here alone

And look out on the water

Red with the blood of my brothers,

Stained with the blood of my enemies.

The seagulls irreverently cry

As they scavenge for freshly hewn meat.

But all is silent midst their screams,

A dirge for every man.

The television will hum

With news that we won the war.

“The war is over!” they will say.

But no one really believes it.

To the children lying at my feet,

Mere collateral damage from battle,

The war is finally over; they will hurt no more.

To their mothers, the war drags on.

I killed a man last week, a good man.

I would have bought him a drink any other day.

But orders from the top bade I spill his blood.

“He is dangerous,” they said.

I don’t think either side won.

The seagulls won; they will feast for a week.

The ground won; it gladly receives the harvest.

The flies won; there will be plenty of them.

I sit here alone on the crimson sand.

I haven’t slept in days.

I take this leaden pill and sleep

At last with my brothers.