A Soldier's Story

“When the damage is done, the war is over. 
Nothing is ever over, It’s all around you. 
Lucky to be alive, to broken to continue.”
 

I spoke to a man, who has battled  the front line,
he told me many stories.
He told me of his change in time.
He stands trapped in endless visions, the sounds when they attack,
him sinking in a bloodbath, about carrying comrades on his back.
With each breath a smell of sulfur lingers, with sights of blood and pain.
Collecting tags among the fallen, shows he will not die in vain.
Burning towns and villages, blood-stained ground, piles of slaughter.
Of  innocent women and children, fathers and mothers.
Struggling with all his strength, to keep himself alive.
As he crawls through piles of blood shed, keeping him in disguise,
thinking  good thoughts of friends, his wife, his family.
How does one keep sane when a thousand deaths cover thee?
Alone, not a sound, or spoken word silence is all to clear.
Searching for his comrades, seeking the hidden land mines in fear.
Robbed of sleep, he grows weaker, he is in a fragile state.
Survival, seeking vengeance, his eyes are filled with hate.
These casualties of war are that of his fallen brothers.
In search of tags, pictures, letters, to give peace to family members.
He’s in a lucid dream like state, racing thoughts keep him awake.
For all he knows has fallen dead, so he tries to be brave
to be a hero...full of courage.
Yet the war has brought him only baggage.
     Home is with the fallen, but you try your best to make it,
as most of your comrades came back in a casket.
Lucky to be alive, without feeling, am I dead?
Such madness keeps him at a peace bestow his bed,
his fears of rejection of his own.
For all he knows is loss the fallen war,
many thoughts before him..
will they condemn him for all his sin?
Maybe he will be remembered?
Perhaps only misunderstood,
all he feels is so much tension.
Is this paranoia, society gives him rejection?
Is he remembered for the good, or his sins of sorrow?
A battle fought and won for a better tomorrow,
With the damage left behind
the war still lives inside his mind.
Your children, they grew,
no memory of you,
a wife still committed.
Yet you're  hardly within it,
though alive on the outside,
but memories haunt the inside.
Now the life you once knew
becomes different, all new,
find it hard to get out of bed,
knowing all your friends are dead.
Not qualified for anything
just sets the anger, bubbling alone.
No one can understand,
except the ones that are six feet underground.
This struggle you can’t forget inside your head,
grows silent then you see the blood shed.
Since nothing’s over, it’s all around you.
Lucky to be alive, too broken to continue.
Society welcomes you with open arms,
but can they help you take away these scars?
Nothing’s over, it’s far from over.
You become a monster
To the ones who love you
You hurt the ones around you,
Painful reminders of a trigger,
Hurting all the ones that matter.
No words I can say
makes it worth the loss of many,
feeling lost and left behind.
Swallowed in the depths of hell,
How does a battle be over,
when you're reliving moments of the wicked?
Picking up all the pieces everyday,
battles strike inside your head.
But his selfless acts
kept us all safe and warm.
So stick up for one another,
they've suffered and survived - fighting your country’s war.
                                                                                                                   Joanna McDonald