A young boy is driven by passion
He was taught to spare no compassion
For he has been called to a distant place
Vanished without a trace
This boy was thrust into the machine
Such is the fate of a desperate teen
With rifle in hand; bible in heart
His innocence was slowly torn apart
This boy was no longer an individual
His identity was unknown; political
As his face grew cold and his memories grew old
He saw the final glimpse of morality fold
This boy was trapped in a world of blood and dirt
The bodies of those he loved clung lifelessly to his torn shirt
All he could see was red
Laughter and joy were only achieved by the dead
This man was beaten and lead astray
Nothing could stop his eternal decay
The very thought of love made him cry
He knew that for his country he must die
This man was left in the land of the dead
For he had nothing left to give; his God had fled
The faces of those he had killed haunted his dreams;
How did he let himself fall into the blind men's schemes?
Why are the men who plan never the men who land?
Why are the men who speak never the men who stand?
Why are the men who convene never the men who attack?
Why are the men who comfortably critique never the men who carry the injured on their back?
Why are the men who fight never the men who are honoured?
Why are the men who die never the men who wear the heavenly armour?
Why are the men who fall never the men who are remembered?
Why are the men who are lost never the men who are treasured?
This man returned to his ancient residence
His mind warped due continual pestilence
Tears and an embrace marked his arrival
Ultimately, he did not care for survival
This man was not called a hero
He regretted the thought of tomorrow
There was no medal around his neck
There was no monthly check
This man was completely invisible
Yet those who fail to see him made his life miserable
One night he decided the world no longer needed to carry his weight
Without the man who sits in the house of white he would have had a much different fate
This poem is about: