I live in a calm place with
    turmoil slightly out of reach.
    Egos clash in mad thunder and
    bury the ghosts in their ground.

    I mow my lawn and water flowers.
    Beyond me war wages and nations
    destroy each other and wear black.
    Families weep, dad's gone forever.

    Our warrior came part way home.
    He was never the sweet man who
    left to war. He's brittle, forever sad.
    We love him in the eye of his storm.