Scars Of War Poem by Michael Jenkins

Every morning I wake
Often I see
my life staring up at me.
They offer no words, no comfort or relief
they just look up at me
almost in disbelief.
The pain they've suffered, the horrors they've endured
just for me to go back for more.
No complaints, no debates,
only a steadily increasing amount of hate.
Yet they say nothing, only a silence
that is almost as terrifying
as the preceding violence.
They just wait patiently, solemnly sure
That soon
Very soon
there will be more.