Post date: Jan 10, 2013 6:20:58 PM

He fought in a war that I could not understand,

with the eyes of a boy and the heart of a man.

His innocence they took and emotion denied,

as he watched them kill brothers, he silently cried.

His tears were no use when they had to push ahead,

and with everything he felt, nothing was said.

He drank away the pain and all of the sorrow,

and all of his dreams for a better tomorrow.

With every passing sip the memories had faded,

leaving him broken and terribly jaded.

Feeling like a failure too afraid to come forward.

Wishing their expectations could somehow be lowered.

Silencing the phone whenever it rings,

but the distance doesn't seem to change anything.

Feeling alone as if nobody cares,

oh please help my friend for he's terribly scared.

He's stronger than this but too weak to come back,

for the emotion it takes he unfortunately lacks.

The system that changed him is ready to help,

but change worthy beliefs, begin with himself.

And if he doesn't think he can heal, than where should he turn?

Cause deep down inside I'm getting concerned.

I worry all the time that it will all be too much,

And in the end I will lose out on the man that I love.

If my writing could save him, I'd put it on this page.

If only there was some way to help him be saved.

For the war took away, so much more than time.

It took away from me, the man I call mine.

And though he wasn't injured where anyone can see,

the wound isn't healing from PTSD.

It's stabbing him in the back, and messing with his head,

as he lay there in pain, alone in his bed.

My heart bleeds for him and I can't help but feel,

like something is wrong because this doesn't seem real.

One day he's good and on top of his game,

and the next day there back to being the same.

The depression and the anger he rightfully owns,

but the tragedy of war has invaded my home.

We cannot lower our expectations to meet your demands,

the devastation of war knows not where it lands.

But the wife of a solider, the wife of a marine,

has a voice deep inside her that desperately screams.

He is not the same, and my darling needs help.

After everything he's seen and everything he's felt.

He watched as his brothers were killed by his side,

with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

He heard how they screamed and took their last breath,

and he stared in the face of the evil of death.

Those men gave their lives for their country, their friends.

They'd go back and do it all over again.

And some returned home but some became ghosts,

but what kills me inside and hurts me the most.

Is the idea that he fears admitting the truth,

it changed him inside and there was nothing he could do.

Helpless he feels just like in the war,

wishing he could have done just a little bit more.

Maybe things would be different and maybe they wouldn't.

Maybe I was meant to write this, but maybe I shouldn't.

I've been keeping his secret now for a long stretch of time,

protecting his emotions as if they were mine.

Feeling the pain that I knew he once felt,

playing the card from the hand he was dealt.

Was the joker really laughing, with that smirk on his face,

or was he having another one of those kind of days.

I couldn't help but notice that my friend he was crying,

and inside my friend is silently trying

To reach out for help, for someone to listen.

Someone to show him, all he's been missing.

Because he fought in a war, that I'll never understand,

With the heart of a boy and the eyes of a Man.

Stacey H. Thompson