Notes About The Poem
Lets not mention how harsh we treat the returned soldiers living in hell.
Not Living, Not Dead
To fight to the death and die for your country,
To me, has never made sense.
Instead, maybe battle today, retreat, regather,
Then recraft a peaceful offence.
I’m quietly sure nobody wants to die,
And miss their children receiving and giving.
I think dying isn’t a long term way for any person
With ambition to make a living.
The lucky soldiers returning home from war,
They’re lucky, pure and plain.
Lucky to be alive, living, not dead,
With a post traumatic brain.
Or maybe this is not so lucky,
When we see these soldiers on the streets.
Mentally screwed, long hair, unshaven,
Using cardboard boxes for sheets.
These people seem like the forgotten folk,
Living a cold, hungry, daily nightmare.
They watched their mates die,
They’re not living nor dead, just existing on a prayer.
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