War

A young man gazes over his shoulder
a heavy pack,
gun at his side
treading softly, cautiously
observing each blade next to be broken
until he reaches the threshhold.
Gentle pressure,
ease open the door,
raises his rifle and enters.
Movement and the rifle replies,
another young man now lifeless.
Time now tiring
he falls ever slowly.
First go the legs
and the body crumbles
floating to the ground.
Never again shall he weep
nor sleep.
Eyes are ever opened
emblazoned with
his last emotion.

Our young hero
whose ballad has yet to be sung
does not feel victorious.
Fearfully he revisits the door
haunted by the image.

The face now ever scorched
into his mind, his dreams.
As he reimagines that time, he sees that young soldier
forever lying with eyes unclosing,
20 years old like himself.
His wife now of twenty years
is the only one to see
this now old hero in his sleep
and his midnight tears.