The granite stark and grey,
Forms one amorphous haze
That casts a cloud amongst my thoughts,
Destroys the clarity of blame.

Torn between these two extremes,
Yet bearing empathy for both.
Blinded by my misery,
Will my hatred help me cope?

Yet I’ve been vilified for not showing signs of guilt,
Though I had to show hardened spirit and that spirit couldn’t wilt
As I prepare to leave these barracks, I bear my spirit no ill.

I’ve a face no longer fit,
For the purpose it once knew.
I try to shield my eyes
From the exuberance of youth.

My temper merely dormant,
Pent-up rage lies caged within.
My tattered uniform
Lies with letters never sent.

Yet I’ve been crucified for not describing what I’ve seen,
Yet I could not confide in a family far from me.
As I prepare to leave these barracks, I hope my loved ones bear with me in my grief.

I’ll neither sing nor dance,
And I haven’t prayed in years.
Yet I’ve offered up my hand,
And worked against this country’s fears.

How can history make too harsh a judgement?
Upon a man who followed orders wherever he was sent.
As I prepare to leave these barracks, I hope my loved ones bear with me in my grief.