THE GAME

The sky is so bleak, it shrieks with falling planes that fall in the cold rain

I look below me and see the chaos, thousands of men charging into the fray

I can only look down for a moment as I must stay alert in the skies

I Skim the horizon and look for my enemy, my eyes catch his

Like a flash of lighting I see his machine guns open fire (simile)

They are a pear of scissors as they cut through my canvas wings (metaphor)

I cannot stray from my duty: Protect the infantry

I push the stick hard down, my nose is pointing to the ground

I hear the sounds of combat the bullets whistling like my former drill sergeant (personification)

I can see the faces of soldiers looking up I come screaming towards them

They cover their heads and duck; I then begin to pull up…

Soon I am pointing straight at the enemy; I close my eyes and squeeze the trigger

The sound of my machine guns bring me back to reality, I open my eyes

I only see the anguish as my bullets shred through dozens of soldiers

However a Fokker is on my tail and I take to the skies once again

To once again play this deadly game the game of war…