Colin F. Jones


~ 1 ~

You want to know what I cannot tell you.
You imagine scenes that never were.
Why must the pattern fit the view
That I’m like him, and you’re like her?
What must you hear; a tragic story,
Of shock and horror of whining shell,
Of bodies rotting all burnt and gory,
That I went through some sort of Hell?
When I tell you that I saw no action,
I saw no one die and no one dead,
It seems not to meet your satisfaction,
The imagined horrors in your head.
I am still the man of your attraction,
The same man you did choose to wed.

~ 2 ~

For every man who fired his weapon,
Another ten fired not a round;
Some gain their glory from the unit
That has the most impressive sound.
Some die who never see what hit them;
Some fight in battles brave and bold.
But mostly soldiers come home as veterans
Without such stories to unfold.
Presume not, that all of them saw action,
Though they were ready for the fight,
Then you’ll not seek the satisfaction,
Of seeking something that isn’t right.
For all are born to be themselves,
Despite the rigors of the night.