My Son - Poem by Orlando Belo
You were once a live wire and full of beans,
with burning desires and endless dreams.
But you always wanted that little bit more
and a soldiers life appealed for sure.
To travel the world and have a career,
was enough to tempt any young pioneer.
You quickly made friends and settled in,
and enjoyed the life of soldiering.
You did your tours and won a stripe,
but the killing part you didn't like.
Seeing women and children covered in blood,
and comrades dying did you no good.
When you returned from Afghanistan,
you came back home a different man.
You tossed and turned in your sleep,
and shouted to God, your soul to keep.
You said you carried the smell of death
inside your nose and upon your breath.
Emphatically you said you could never go back again,
and face the horrors that caused you pain.
But you did return to those theatre's of death,
but not as the boy I knew when you first left.
The realities of war have scarred your soul,
and your spirit for life bare's a heavy toll.
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