The Biography of the Warrior

Family sets our earliest views of humanity,
tempers the timber in our voices,
gives us words to grow up by; my family
were Native Americans, and
my family was the military.

First realized memories, at two months old,
conflict within the home family, Father
beating Mother; the Korean Conflict was raging in the news.
all of my realized thoughts and actions
came from this first realization. I did not cry.

My second recollection, just a few days later
while Dad attempted to change me;
I pissed directly into his eye. Again, I did not cry.

When I was older, more than once, He beat me
for no better reason than not finishing my chore;
those stripes I carry to this day. I do not cry.

In earliest ages, size, ability and superior skill
tempered and driven to excel in military endevours,
my body and mind were made ready for war;
daily challenges of heart and mind and soul
were the bitter grain I consumed for meat.

Growing to early adulthood, working and standing as a man,
yet only twelve in chronological years, my size and strength
lied for me that I was prepared to leave heart and home;
that year was the turning point. Still I did not cry.

Trained in every art of warfare, master of arms, pilot,
national top marksman for four years running;
war became my only reality, my reason to survive,
patriotic emblems over my heart, with steel in my fists.

I ran to the cause, my country anthem playing in my mind,
gung-ho and no stopping me; I engaged the state enemy of that day.
My heart has not stopped crying, for forty years,
the only healing balm is found through writing with tears.