The soldier.

Emblazoned with medals,

Greeted with awe,

The soldier walks towards home

As he bids adieu to war.

 

His hands are bruised,

His face a scarred mess,

Yet the smile refuses to fade

As he walks home at the fastest pace.

 

His daughter whom he met,

A wee little runt then,

Awaits her father’s steps

Her now youthful face, filled with pain.

 

His wife the once lovey bride,

Colors her grey streaks black,

She tries to hide the long gone hope

Of her husband coming back.

 

The soldier walks through the lanes,

Grateful for his feet,

As many a men he saw destroyed;

Their bodies a gory mass, with no chance of retreat.

 

The war was lost

But he was alive

And that’s what matters most.

 

Until he saw a mass of people,

Rushing towards his frail soul

They called him a traitor, stoning him to death

Adding one more life to the rising toll.

 

The soldier lay on those very roads,

The ones which led back home;

His daughter still awaited his footsteps

While his wife realized that he’d never reach their abode.

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