A Soldier's Portrait

I'm a piece of artwork Hanging in a galleria Where imperfection is awed By perfection. My carefully constructed lines Shows a life of regret and hardship Dark shadows shaded behind me Reveals Evil travels with me. On my shoulders are badges of a Honor. A patriot of war is Such a burden to carry. Light shadows underneath my eyes Shows I suffer from insomnia. Cold black eyes,match with a 1000 Yard stare reveals, I have seen death, touched death, experienced death. Spectators notice the souls at the Bottom of the portrait. You can feel the life of lives snatching and tugging at my soul Lack of color in my face tells Of horror no longer of passion. Some view me as a savior and guardian to my country. Others I'm just a mere killer and Murderer. But I say to myself, I am just a human not a hero. I am just a survivor not a killer. Heroes and soldiers carry pain Deep inside their own spirit. Pain eats at the soul like White blood cells attacks infections. The red lines scrolling down from the portrait is the blood tears that I cry for the souls reaching up trying to Drag me down to rest among them. In my painting I have no peace. Just pieces of me scattered among The dead. I'm left alive but dead And death drains me until I'm no more.