A Soldier's Tale

BY CAROLE NICHOLS


The judge looked at me, a boy, still eighteen,
You have only two choices, the service or jail;
And with the ignorance of youth, I chose,
And delivered myself into the hands of hell.

Taken to a place that should have felt safe,
Where I was supposed to learn to be a man;
I didn't know that I'd be broken, remade,
Didn't know I'd never see that boy again.

My possessions taken at the gate,
Stripped of my dignity and my pride,
Turned into a robot, a killing machine;
And no one cared if I lived or died.

Was not allowed to think a thought,
Was not allowed to dream of home;
I was broken and battered beyond repair,
In a sea of threats, I felt so alone.

Those who lived through the bitter school,
Were packed up and shipped to a foriegn shore;
A helmet, a smoke, and orders so strange,
Told to kill the enemy, then kill some more.

What was left of the boy died in the jungle,
What was left of the soul died in the heat.
You got use to the flies, and the stench;
You got use to wet socks and rotting feet.

And when it was finished, if you lived,
You returned home to names and rocks and spit;
The dreams that stayed with you night and day,
There was no place at home where you would fit.

No one to hold you, for you could no longer care,
No one to help you put the demons away;
No place that held peace, for you couldn't be still
No place for a veteran to settle and stay.

I remember a boy who was just eighteen,
Who believed in a future, sunny and bright;
What I see is a man who was sent into hell,
Never again will his world be right.