As he tells his stories, I watch, curious.
Does he ever feel the body walking next to him,
The one whose life ended so quickly.
Does he feel the ghost of his friend?
Does he hear the guns firing, the bombs booming,
The cries of his fellow soldiers.
Do the sounds play over, terrifying music without melody?
Does he ever close his eyes and see the battlefield?
The destruction wrought by only man.
Did he ever take a step and feel as if he was on their soil?
Does he ever turn around when called by name,
And expect to see his fellow fallen soldier?
Does he ever turn and expect to see the war raging behind him?
Do the images haunt his nightmares, his dreams?
Or worse, do they haunt his waking moments?
Has he been able to find happiness, after all he has saw?
I only hope he did.