I met a soldier once.
His eyes saw many storms.
Wars beyond a battlefield.
His body heavy hung.

He smiled, he tried.
A little haste.
His teeth were gritted.
Hands on his waist.

And all the while.
He gently paced.
I knew he hid the battle haze.

He softly spoke in heavy tones.
But he never once relayed the woes.
Just fight the fight that he found.
In himself, not on the battleground.

He fought not just in the battlefields.
Not just with a gun.
A flag upon his shoulder.
And his jacket slightly slung.

He spoke of all the laughter.
Relayed all that he missed.
Said he “I do it all again”
And do so without haste.

And when he then became quite still.
I heard his silent screams.
And in that very moment.
I knew the battle raged.

He bore no wounds to see at all.
No scars or stitches did he own.
But when he walked along the way.
His heavy steps, deafening sounds.

He turned and smiled and said to me.
Now I’m homeward bound.
I hope we meet again someday.
And maybe share some words.

Then he turned and walked away.
His head was slightly hung.
And just for a minute.
I saw the weight come on.

Now he’s gone and no bugles played.
No medals dangled, 0r music played.
Just echoes of his war within.
Where too many soldiers.
Have found their end.

So, when next you meet a soldier.
View them more than brave or strong.
There's battles fought behind their eyes.
That have raged a whole life long.