Soldiers
I was a soldier on the battlefield,
Watching smoke curl and rise in the distance,
Treading on bodies that had been mangled
And blown apart by the destruction.
My platoon was gone
And I searched for a friendly face,
But all I could see was smoke
And darkness.
Then out of the fog, a Face appeared.
It was my face, but drawing closer,
I could make out subtle differences.
This was an older Face,
Not by much, but the eyes had the look
Of just having seen a bit more.
This way!; said the Face,
And I followed after.
The Face had a Body.
The Body had a Back.
On the back was a bag,
That was as big and heavy as mine.
But the owner of The Face
Didn’t seem bothered by it.
He was light on his feet,
Or at least that was the impression he gave.
I stayed close to The Face,
Because the space around The Face
Was a safe place to be.
The scenes on the battlefield
Were horrific and terrible
But I never doubted we would make it out alive.
We had many adventures - the kind that are awful at the time
But make good stories later.
I ran into The Face in The Real World.
He was drinking coffee,
And he had a daughter.
I smiled and waved, but when he looked up,
I saw in his eyes the visions of the past
Conjured by my presence.
The smoke, the fire, the mangled bodies.
I looked deeper into his eyes,
My reflection looked back,
And I saw the same horrors in my eyes too.
