Even when I was young,
I knew things,
perceived things you didn't think I could.
I knew it was time to stop talking,
when that distant look suddenly crept into your eyes.
I knew it meant you weren't really there anymore,
you'd traveled back in time.
I learned quickly,
there are some things you don't ask a man.
Ever.
As I've grown I've learned more,
still probably without your knowing.
I know when you attempt sleep,
memories you've learned to shroud from light of day,
spring forth and reign terror on your dreams.
A grotesque cinematic beyond my imagining,
yet all too real.
I know why you struggle with people,
and with crowds.
I know to you,
anyone and anything could be an enemy, a hazard.
I know to this day you see blood on your hands.
I wish you knew your sons do not.
I know when you look in the mirror you see a monster.
A younger you, with hollow eyes
and as you once so eloquently said,
"A smile that speaks, of death delivered"
I wish you knew,
to your sons you stand a warrior.
Tried but unbroken.
I know you didn't want to go.
I know a part of you died there.
I can hardly fathom,
how deep it cut to return home labeled a murderer, and worse.
So much guilt already on your shoulders.
But I know you've never gotten over it.
I just wish there was a way to tell you,
it is not your fault.
You did the best you could,
you did what you had to do.
Maybe someday you'll understand,
You are not what happened there.
Maybe someday I'll find a way to tell you,
The war is over, dad. Come Home.