| Callouses |
|
The stench of old battles fills his nose |
|
As memories come alive again; |
|
He relives the fear and hears the sounds, |
|
As he hunkers against the monsoon rain. |
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He'd thought he’d get used to the fear, |
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The loss of friends, the weariness, and such; |
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He'd thought that, after awhile, |
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All those things wouldn’t matter so much. |
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He’d learn, soon enough, to ignore the pain |
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As he matured and grew into a man; |
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His mind would stiffen and grow a shield |
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Like toughened skin on work-hardened hands. |
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He lies here now, lost deep in thought, |
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His vision turned inward to those distant days, |
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And he feels his soul shiver
|
|
As another callous falls away. |
| © T. P. Woodfork 10/27/2009 |
Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
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