The wounds of war
are, often times, hidden
from the naked eye.

Inexperience blinds
ones’ visions,
and common ears
can’t hear the screams,
as shards of flesh
are ripped away
from their
natural setting,

and eyes that close,
yet, no longer see
what, to most,
looks like
‘reality’.

For, now, through
skewed perceptions,
can only envision
moments of hell;
moments that can’t
be UN-seen
or EVER
forgotten.

A soldier who leaves,
innocent, full of ideals,
and returns home,
borne again.

A new, dark creature
has emerged;
one who no longer
speaks or comprehends
the language
or world
of the civilian.

Only understood by
the brotherhood of
those who have also
looked into
the dismal ravages...

of WAR.

Sons and Daughters
of the homeland,
risking life, limb
and sanity,
in defense of
this democracy,
pledging allegiance
to their sacred flag
and way of life.

They have stories
to tell
of epic
human depravity;
they walk in
conscious nightmares
that most, back home,
would rather never know,
and pretend do not
truly exist.

WAR bears only
wounded fruit,
and the only ‘winners’
if one can call them such,
are merely those
left breathing;

those that managed
to **** more of THEM
than they killed
of US.

Those that live
through it and
manage to return,
arrive,
filled with true
knowledge
of, both, the best
and the horrifying
the human soul
can produce.

The stories of WAR
become a second skin
one cannot drink
or wash away.

All the while,
at home,
others walk right by,
showering thanks
‘for their service’,
wishing blessings
and throwing
festive (unwanted)
parades,

while ignoring
the crippled spirits
of the broken soldiers
saluting...

dressed, in their
very best.



~ by Mercurychyld
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