Child's Morph

Child’s Morph
By Joe DeLucia

They can see it in me, I know they can, they know.
Why look at me like that, Mom, Dad? What did I do?
Daylight, teenagers, looking for food and info.
Nighttime, now enemies, not kids, death anoint you.

My room a sarcophagus, sheets clean, neat, and fresh.
Innocence of boyhood, desecrated by truth.
Ever see a high velocity round slay flesh?
I, infantryman, aimed my M-4, and did shoot.

Youngest brother, now fifteen, baby when I left.
Looks up to me, a hero he sees, but does he know.
Bloodied hands killed younger than he, my soul bereft.
Ransacked mangled corpses for intel, revealed souls.

Good Catholic school boy, said my breviary.
Thou shall not kill, I did, bedeviled with remorse.
Incoming small arms fire, unknown trajectory.
Sargent Myles peered up, round to face pointed to source.

Loved him like a brother, but at home he is unknown.
Vengeful steel blasted foe, insolent over kill.
Mourn for sarge and who I’ve slain. My sins I atone.
Stained soul, bartered volunteer, my choice, not God’s will.

High school friends ask questions, look at me with false pride.
Thank me for my service. Do they know what I’ve done?
Double popped, wrought havoc, maimed, orders I abide.
Don’t shake my impure hands, no more my Mother’s son.

Afraid for so long, implored refuge of my home.
Barren, soulless, fearful still, but dread not dying.
Fear pronouncement of guilt, silence my catacomb.
My eyes divulge what I’ve seen, continue lying.

Nowhere to hide, will they ever perceive my shame?
Rescue, protect, aid, youthful ideology.
There is no home, alone, morals, self, soul aflame.
Partial self, loss of ego, I dichotomy.