Picture

A full moons glisten, an angry wind's scream
The evils of that night are but reflections of a dream.
Jagged edges of clouds, mother nature's sharpened teeth,
The war has only started, and it's puppet's, struck with grief.
A brave soldier called to fight, leaves another all alone
As his hand slips out of hers, and he's taken from his home.
Pass through muddy trenches, he's training just to kill,
How could acts of hatred really be God's will?
The hours that he lives, his sweat will find the ground,
But it's when he rests his head, that his life is truly found.
His mind paints him a picture, from the beating in his chest,
A wife and unborn daughter, -just one month left.
All the hope he'll ever need,
The only love he's ever seen,
All the strength he's ever had,
The only reason for his being
-Locked up in her picture.

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Is the ending too abrupt? Or does it work alright?