10 years of battles, firefights and war
After all of it there was still one more fight.
The battle of walking through my own door,
Even my home still didn't feel quite right.
My wife and children rained hugs and kisses,
Still I hear the call of the mortar men and privates.
I squeezed my children and caressed my misses,
But I still felt the rifle in my hands firing high rates.
Even in my bedroom I was a face with vacant eyes,
Feeling my twisted smile facing down enemy barrel.
Still I am in the deserts and forest as brother dies,
Still I I hear them calling and raising morale.
