They sent us off
With promises of glory
‘Bearers of Victory’ they called us
Upholders of righteousness.
We fell like 10 little soldiers
Until there was but one
The one they called the victor
And honored with metal.
The one came home
And thought, ‘Alas, can sleep without
The music of bullets, the symphony of
Bazookas and the orchestra of tanks.’
Little did he know that those
Sounds were etched into his eardrums.
That instead of his pulse reminding
Him of his mortality, the cacophony
Would remind him of his impending doom.
The grass that once used to be green
Now flows red.
The crimson river he sees
Every time he closes his lids.
He was sent to stop the glacier
Which is perhaps why
His hands are forever icy
His bones forever numb.
But the thing that keeps
Him up at night
The things that made him wish
He woke with amnesia
Are the grey pools
And they way they were drained
And replaced with