POEM: The Walking Wounded


Poem by Chris Woolnough

There’s a look in the eyes,
A battle stare, that no one understands,
Only another soldier can see,
The Blood that’s on our hands.

As only another soldier can feel,
The Agony in the tears we cry,
A Brotherhood that shares a guilt,
Because we didn’t die.

My Comrades in Arms know too well,
What it is like to be alone,
How to build a wall against the pain,
And turn their hearts to stone.

Where every combat veteran,
Is suffering from PTSD,
Because the windows to our soul,
Saw things no man should see.

We are the walking wounded,
That played a deadly game,
And though our days seem numbered,
We live with eternal blame.

We battle with the word of God,
Were taught to do His will,
Who put the gun into our hands,
And taught their sons to kill?

We held our tongues in silence,
And turned our pain within,
As each day we kept on fighting,
A war that we never win.

And mere mortal eyes fail to see,
That our spirits are long gone,
Not do they know the price we pay,
For the bodies we’re walking on.

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©Copyright 2002 by Chris Woolnough


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