My Son

You were once a live wire and full of beans,
with burning desires and endless dreams.
But you always wanted that little bit more
and a soldiers life appealed for sure.

Opportunities to see the world and have a career
was enough to tempt any young pioneer.
You soon made friends and settled in
and enjoyed the life of soldiering.

You did your tours and won a stripe,
but the killing part you didn’t like.
Seeing women and children covered in blood,
and comrades dying did you no good.

When you returned from Afghanistan
you came back a different man.
You tossed and turned in your sleep,
and shouted to God, your soul to keep.

You said you carried the smell of death
inside your nose and upon your breath,
and that you could never go back again,
and face the horrors that caused you pain.

But you did return to those theatres of death,
but not as the boy I knew when you first left.
The realities of war had scared your soul
and your spirit of life was the heavy toll.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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