Off he went,

But he never quite came back the same,

Too much time he spent,

In denial of his own name.

They sent him of a soldier,

Cheerful propaganda and crowds of cheers,

He came back afraid of the devil on his shoulder,

Whispering his deepest fears.

Off he went to war in conditions so horrific,

Forever the sound of gunshots echoing his mind,

The memory of it haunts him and it isn't exactly specific,

He feared it all and felt on edge all the time.

He is losing himself in a war again,

But this time in his head,

He feels so cowardly and ashamed,

His thoughts rule his being and he is unable to go to bed.

He is forever stuck in his own shell,

Desperately trying to silence the screams.

He didn't get the time to dwell,

Now he is falling apart at the seams.

Think of all the soldiers who went and never came back quite the same,

Are they sick and haunted?

In denial of their own name?

Are they fearful and terrorised by the images that are so bloody and daunting?

Think of all the soldiers that are still battling to this day.

Dedicated to Grandad.