|He Walks Alone
He walks alone. He is hungry. His memory is in a fog.
Only yesterday he was helping others to become free.
His murmurs are an incoherent dialogue
Of the sorrow he saw in the eyes of each refugee.
His feet trod on the hard, broken glass littered pavement.
The forest is made of old dilapidated buildings with mongrel dogs.
His friends are dressed in black plastic body bags and it’s evident
That they are just a number in a cemetery’s catalog.
He does not know fear of anything, anywhere.
The fire in his eyes for love or hate has gone away.
He is the forgotten soldier who gave the duty with a solemn prayer.
He is now the homeless veteran who we must find, and help and repay.
I used the pronoun he but this poem can apply to women as well. God bless all of them.
© Copyright 2009 Dorianne (UN: jumacu at Writing.Com).
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