With mild malcontent he stares out to sea,
and he fixes his gaze upon the horizon,
and imagines a foe that he hopes he will not see,
for he has a suspicious mind having lived through war,
and with such vicious visions playing in his eyes,
he finds it hard to define a friend from an enemy,
and what a horrific life it is, to be so brutalised,
and tormented, that in his nightmare,
death is all around and plain to see,
and if he could change the world he would,
but he is left with the visions of the bodies on the ground, and the blood upon the soil and on his hands,
and life is precious,
and although he wishes he was not so misunderstood,
there is a haunted look in his eyes,
and the heaviness of war hangs upon his brow,
coping with evil whilst wanting good,
for that is all there is in the here and the now.