His face displays such ageing purity;
So innocent yet hiding so much pain.
His past is nothing but a burden
Of which he vowed to never speak of again.
Yet those around him disagree,
They say he should stand up tall.
He survived a war, he fought so strong,
While his brothers and friends began to fall.
The last man standing, yet he's frowning.
Everyone thinks he's lost his pride.
It's in him, somewhere, it just has to be found;
When his friends died, it was pushed to the side.
Each morning he stares in the mirror:
A bullet wound in his skin, his chest, his heart.
He makes a wish, up to the skies,
That his brothers and friends are not apart.
"I love you, I miss you," he repeats everyday.
For each memory a tear rolls down
His cheek. He breathes a sigh of sadness,
Hoping a smile will replace his frown.
