The Battle Continues

Sitting on a makeshift chair beneath a blazing sun,
With a cigarette still burning in your hand,
Your rifle laid beside you, leaning up against the chair,
And your helmet dumped into the burning sand.
The nicotine is racing through your veins to calm your nerves,
Even though it’s been two years since you had quit,
But the mountains of Afghanistan have claimed their vicious toll,
And the stress has worn you more than you’ll admit.
You sit and stare, numb to the world and lost in your own thoughts,
As you pass the quiet hours of the day,
To a background noise of guns and mortars echoed off the rocks,
From a distant unseen battle far away.
Each time you close your eyes you see a friend departed’s face,
In your ears you hear their agonizing screams,
You feel their warm blood trickle down their back onto your arms,
As their memories still haunt your nightly dreams.
You feel the rage inside you toward a foe you cannot find,
As they hunt you from the scaling mountain heights,
And you know you’re losing touch with the humanity inside,
When you smile when they appear within your sights.
The training can’t prepare you for what you have now become,
One who kills without the slightest of remorse,
But to only hope that time can put these memories behind
When this war has finally gone and run its course.
But you fear the dreams will haunt you yet and still you’ll see the blood,
As within your bed, you’re lying with your wife,
You’ll laugh when people someday say, “You’re lucky; you survived”,
For they’ll never understand a soldier’s life.
But here in desolation, you fit in amongst your men,
Men in triumph, like the legionnaires of Rome,
Here the greatest fear is not that death awaits you on the ridge,
But you fear how you’ll adjust when you go home.