He sees the world in black and white,
sows the seeds of PTSD in blood stained dreams
and fights to get right.
Constantly pulling at the weeds
He’s a gardener to irreversible things
exhausted and always working,
as his purple heart bleeds.
Well they don’t fit the needs of a War Wounded Soldier
walking with the weight of the world on his shoulder
he goes a little crazy.
Reverts back through time
back to the days he
fought through enemy lines
and stood tall with giants.
Celebrating every breath as a triumph.
he wakes most mornings with regret.
Sometimes wishing that he got hit
always wishing that his friends didn’t
and that they were still breathing.
And that he wasn’t left here longing
for the laughter of his pals.
they seen good times for miles
and seen things the average citizen couldn’t stomach.
He fights this war now
because the average citizen wouldn’t.
And don’t you dare say that he shouldn’t
because we’re all blessed to still be alive and bitching.
You know motives of war are nearly never right,
but misjudging a soldier
or the reasons that they fight,
makes an ungrateful ass out of you and I.
And honor is something that should never be denied
to the men and women willing to fight
ensuring that their families sleep safe and sound tonight.
Keeping this country comfy ever more.
He hasn’t slept right since he left that damn war.
Once a soldier in arms,
now pierced with ink
to cover up scars that are more than skin deep.
He’s misunderstood by his family and friends
and he’s bolder than the lines that now cover his skin
His home is cut deep by the shards of shattered windows and
the hinges are all jammed from being slammed
every time a door opens.
He screams inside himself on the daily!
wishing his world didn’t feel so broken.
And that he wasn’t stuck here self medicating his chaos addiction.
Because the best he can get from Veterans affairs,
is a hospital staffed full with doctors who don’t care
about much of anything except the money in their pockets.
Passing pills to their patients
and various suicide scripts
Perhaps he’s suffer less from this shit
if his government would actually deal with it
and provide a system that is fit
for a man of his hard stature to come home to.
Some rehabilitation and something to hold on to.
Something to keep him feeling as grand
as those giants turned memories
that he left in the sands
of Iraq and Afganistan.
Someone to hold his hand
be thankful for the fight that’s left in this man
he’s worth more than a damn
Paying for war with more than money and power
He’s worth more than the memorials
More than those towers
More than the funeral services
and all of those flowers
He’s worth more than the wooden cases
that now protect the fallen’s flags.
As a matter of fact,
he’s worth more than the Peace
that he’ll never get back.
And I thank God and the Stars that he made it this far.
Some days are rough.
Some nights are hard.
But I thank God and the Stars that he made it this far.