A/N: Early high school years.

He stood by the endless shores of silent Time,
Smiling bitterly at the frozen waves that stayed.
The waves of his memories he walked upon,
Each step rippling the surface of his story.

The boy walked through the school bell chime,
through the little garden where he always played.
And only once did he stop to sigh at the failing dawn,
Wishing he could once more appreciate its glory.

He never looked back as he ran past his old friends,
His comrades that rested in a pool of crimson mud.
A man in this warzone only knew how to shoot and run,
Walking was only for the man that lived to tell his tale.

All he had left were some old photos and a broken lens.
He needed to walk away from the old pain and blood,
A new body to walk in, a new life that had just begun,
In the sea of memories for a tired man old and frail.

The waves began to melt with each step he took,
Signifying the closing of his life's short little book.
The old man allowed himself to shed one final tear,
a tear was shed for all the world's men to hear.