Soldier Boy

He went to hell
And came back...
most of him
the heart still beats and body still moves
But the rhythm is different now
Gone is the soft lullaby of life
In its place now is a grey puppetry
Something lost in his eyes
If you look inside them you'll see Death
sitting and playing chess with ghosts
Ghosts of his brothers
Brothers whom he buried in the desert
Back before he left Hope sought refuge in his pockets
Now they're dusty but bitterly filled to their brim
with cashmere lint and ballads from an old soldier of fortune
He sits quietly now in a chair
drowning in a solitude pool of regret
usually with a flask of something strong
A cope
as all that remains is a broken piece of him rocking in that chair
a fragmented reminder of War's cost

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