> what kind of a journalist are you? ballad of the space marine journalist in the heart of the war-torn stars, where silence reigns, and the void is far, a marine with pen, not gun in hand, sought truth in the depths of a shattered land. warrant officer, stern, with a furrowed brow, called forth the journalist, speak, if you vow. what kind of a journalist walks through the fray, in battles where hope seems to fade away? beside him, a private, bright-eyed and keen, twinkling with laughter, a spirit serene, curious heart, in his youthful attire, listened intently, ignited with fire. with ink as his armor, the journalist stood, dear officer, im not misunderstood. im a seeker of stories, both bold and profound, in the chaos of war, where the lost can be found. i pen tales of valor, of courage untold, of brothers and sisters, of hearts brave and bold. i capture the moments when darkness takes flight, and turn them to words that can shimmer with light. through smoke and through fire, i sift through the strife, to find all the beauty that dances with life. for in every skirmish, in each battles breath, theres a story of hope, even wrapped in death. i speak for the fallen, the whispers they share, for the dreams that they cherished, the love laid bare. im the voice of the galaxy, wide and unseen, in the echoes of conflict, my spirit will glean. so ask not of weapons or tactics i wield, but the tales of the brave on the ever-shifting field. im a chronicler of courage, a bard of the night, in the grim dark of space, i bring forth the light. the warrant officer nodded, respect in his gaze, while the private first class, in a joyous daze, clapped hands in delight, for the words rang so true, in a universe dark, where the heart finds its view. thus, the journalist marched on, with his pen in the fray, a beacon of truth, come what may. for in every star, and each distant sphere, lies the heartbeat of hope, forever sincere.
United States