Perched above the flames below,
Through him an icy river does flow,
It sears his very inner soul,
Inside his mind purpose is coal,
To keep his frozen heart at bay,
To shove his feelings all away,
He rises and then advances,
Looks around and see's men in trances,
He wonders what is their guiding purpose,
When they are falling to the ground of this twisted circus,
Horrific scenes haunt his nights,
Monsters that aren't scared of any lights,
Questions haunt and hiss inside his mind,
Nameless stones his weapons grind.
Is it his battle, is it just?
Shells rattle, fall, and then they rust.
Human bodies turn back to dust.
Does ignorance rule only the minds of fools?
Are those who battle thus no more than tools?
To whose benefit are such lives claimed?
Are all who take up arms to be blamed?
Shouldn't those who lit the fire be cast into its furious pyre?
He strides through the dust and ash,
Embers glide, duck, and flash,
Burning haze clouds the way,
Sickly fog turns enshrouds the day,
But always shines a star above,
Promising hope for love,
Yet sparking conflicts and quarrels of this hour,
Skew his hopes and turn his thoughts sour,
Then he looks back on what he has seen.
Empty eyes reflect a hollow reality.
The ghosts of war will never set his future free.
Nightmare whispers never truly cease to be.
He lives a half-life.