WW1 Dogfight

This is the longest poem I've written, and I still have not yet finished editing it or balancing the rhythm, but I want some crits and suggestions/opinions on it so far before I work on it some more. He chases down the enemy planes His bullets ripping apart the once peaceful skies His only thoughts and feelings Are focused on the thrill of the fight To die Or to kill Suddenly he is shot down And realizes this isn't fun. That the fall down will seem endless Andexcruciatingly tormenting, Slowly tearing apart his terrifiedsoul. His smoking, bullet-riddled plane Violently spirals down to the unforgiving ground His screams ringing in the blood-filled air. Empty Hopeless Dreadful Screams that he knows Will bring no help. And with every cursed moment that passes by And every doomed inch closer to the earth He is more certain of his death. To him it feels Like this moment Is so significant, so important That every breathing bastard In this ignorant world must Feel what he must endure, But there are still families Eating quietly in the morning, Children playing with the dog Withhappy, clueless minds And men with nothing better to do Than to beat the hell Out of their wives, their kids. None of them know None of them have felt The terror or death Of the brave pilot. And when the plane Comes crashing down Upon his soft and lethal grave His loud, explosive death Will entertain the enemy, And it may even be Heroic.