I was a soldier, but never sure
of those things I was
charged to do
I was asked to fight
pick up helmet and gun
men dying around me I knew
Those places I've been
and the things I've done
all eclipse the known profane
Now with beauty fraught
you must lock the gate
—inside this prison I remain
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April,2015)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem