In the grip of madness, man is driven,

From skies above to earth, unforgiven.

Yet in that crash, a silence cruel,

His conscience whispers, a haunting fuel.

Reminding him of what he’s left behind,

His family, faith, and ways unkind.

Mocking his loyalty, his patriot’s creed,

Questioning the cause, the desperate need.

Doubt had eaten him from the start,

Since he crawled beneath walls, a soldier’s part.

Dancing with bullets, wounds his prize,

Marching wearily ‘neath war-torn skies.

He tried to numb his pain with pills,

Seeking courage in medicinal thrills.

But toll it took, his body frail,

Mind, body, soul, all to assail.

A spoil of war, broken and worn,

Hands, head, and knees, no solace, forlorn.

Regret consumes him, brave façade shed,

Pride stripped bare, honor now dead.

What of the man, once soldier bold?

A shell of his former self, stories untold.

Without his medals, without his name,

Exchanged for family, for fortune’s flame.

Time and distance tear him apart,

From life and love, from a beating heart.

He wonders why he’s done so much,

What value lies in scars, in blood and such?

Did God ordain his violent strife,

Or was it man’s folly, his cursed life?

He seeks forgiveness from God and kin,

For now, the soldier’s battle is done, within.