At the feet of the statue

The flowers lay at the feet of the statue, the pictures of the one now fallen.
The tribute to the soldier that left the war, but the war didn't leave him.
Not long ago, the celebration of his return, the welcoming home of a hero.
He had come home in one piece, the fatal wound not visible, but it was already oozing.
The band aid of celebration ended, the wound slowly dripped.

The wounds of the mind, ripping apart the peace he is searching for.  Those that love him try to comfort him, trying to help only causes the injury to deepen, pushing him to focus on it.

His family urges him to seek help, the hospital welcomes him.  Offers him hope.
But the wound is too severe; he leaves the hospital, the place that comforted him,
Leaving the comfort zone temporarily, when he returns, he is walks to the statue of soldiers before him.  The trigger switches off the endless pain of his, and switches on the endless pain of his family, the ones that couldn't help him.  The ones that didn't understand that he was mortally wounded in war in the distant land.
The statue, the last thing the soldier saw, becomes the tribute to his life.  One ended far too soon.