The Color of War

When I see the color red,
I think of wounds that battle bled,
From bullet holes upon his back,
Before the medic said he’s dead,
And when I see the color black,
I think about that night’s attack,
And crawling through the midnight dew,
To a body slumped beneath his pack,
But when I see the color blue,
I think of what I thought I knew,
Of future’s promise and delight,
But just sad mem’ries I’d accrue,
And when I see the color white,
I think of waxy looks of fright,
Upon the faces of the dead,
Of those we lost there in the fight,
So listen close to what I’ve said,
It scars a man to see life shed,
And normalcy’s a sense of dread,
These things I see, in the color red.

(Another attempt at the aaba bbcb ccdc rhyme scheme)