They came home bloody, battered and bruised
The flower of youth have now grown old
They have that 1000 yard stare from hard battle
And have seen things no man should ever see
Politicians declared war and sent their youth to fight
Now peace has been negotiated and war is over.
They came home but their loved ones didn't
Recognise them, they were not the same
Different, confused, suffering PTSD but they
Didn't know what its was called, just shell shock.
Some were executed for it, constantly pounded
By shellfire, bullets, cry of the wounded echoing
In their head and the dead, yes the dead littering
The trenches and no mans land. Half buried in dank
Sticky mud, half decomposed. War was and is hell
And will always be. They were lions but led by donkeys.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A strong, strong write. you paint a vivid image