These are not
The hands they once were.
The hands that were young,
The hands that had been pierced by the thorns of a rose.

These are not
The eyes they once were.
The eyes that saw clearly.
The eyes that dimmed as the world around him became more obscure.

This is not
The mind it once was.
The mind that was innocent,
The mind that came under stress
As it fathomed the thought
That his friends had died on the front lines.

These are not
The arms they once were.
The arms that wrapped around his first love as they danced,
The arms that had fractured when a grenade detonated a meter away.

These are not
The legs they once were.
The legs that carried him on youthful energy,
And now required support to allow him to walk.

This is not
The heart it once was.
The heart that loved,
That cared for his friends,
That heart that was now slowly fading away.

This is not
The man he once was.
His life changed him.
Though you might say for the worse,
I say for the better.