by Fush Moss

March 13, 2017

 

Quietly we invade the dark of night,

our great country to honorably serve.

We fulfill our mission without reserve.

Quietly we snatch away many lives.

 

Quietly many sustain unseen wounds

from the hell we observe and we inflict,

during what some refer to as “conflict.”

Quietly “conflict” is used to delude.

 

Quietly warriors succumb to the hell

of memories, the ceaseless intruder,

who can’t be escaped or out maneuvered.

Quietly the wind doesn’t fill their sails.

 

Quietly they sink into deep despair

brought on by their perpetual torture;

unable to keep a fighting posture.

Quietly they question if any care.

 

Quietly their candle flickers dimly;

susceptible to being easily,

sadly extinguished irretrievably.

Quietly they snuff out their lives, weary.

 

Quietly the warrior’s plight, unnoticed

by most, will still remain undiagnosed.

 

© Fush Moss 2017