Writings on Life, War, and Exploration

05/02/14

A body covered in ink etch memories,
Of a time being wild and free.
Leaving home on a jet plane,
Never knowing if you’ll be back again.
Fresh faced and wide eyed,
And laughter quells the reality of dying.
New men you regard now as brothers,
For they have seen you at your worst,
When war has taken it’s toil,
And sought to return you to dust.
Looking into each other eyes,
Knowing that this may be your last,
A right of passage that must be passed.
A letter is exchange in hand,
No words are spoken,
Just an acknowledgement of your last stand.
There’s no glamour, no heroics,
Just a silence that pierces the heart.
As the beat of your blood races,
Through rubbled filled streets and precise paces.
You turn to see familiar faces,
Covered in dust and sweat,
In love and regret,
And the signal of fire,
Throws thoughts to the wind,
And blood fills streets,
Of young brothers you’ll never see again.

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