The Soldier

The Solider


My ankles are frail
my skin is dry and weak.
My bones are cracked,
and my heart doesn’t get the attention
it seeks.

My hands are stained,
My eyes are strained,
My face is front of pain and
a terrible game.

My clothes are dusty,
the skills are rusty,
and forever I will be of shame.
I did not fight,
so those can live,
I fought this fight so I can win.

And every night
when I lay on desert sand.
I know I have stolen another family’s land.
When I dream I see their faces,
lost friends,
incomplete cases.