Colin F. Jones

THE PROFESSIONAL

~ 1 ~

Is this what a soldier must become,
A whinging Veteran who has lost his gun,
Who criticizes what others choose to do,
Because he thinks he is one of the better few.
Whose fine example is to wine and moan,
And complain when he is left alone.
For thinking that all the people are fools,
Who fail to live by his negative rules.
Is this what “Veteran” to the world implies,
A name synonymous with bleats and cries,
Who thinks the world owes him a debt,
Now that he’s filled with self regret.
That what he received was undeserved,
As he a professional soldier his county served.

~ 2 ~

The role of a soldier is to train and fight,
To obey the rules and do it right,
And expect in war that he might die,
Or lose a leg or lose an eye.
It is not his role to challenge the cause,
He’s a fighting man in a professional force,
Who goes where ever he’s told to go,
To kill and maim his valiant foe
Oh yes tis soon that blood and gore,
Gives him the courage to kill some more,
Or yet reveals what he did not know,
That he can’t cope with killing the foe,
That he at once is a soldier no more,
That what a soldier does he must deplore.

~ 3 ~

But it was his choice though in regret,
He weeps and moans and cant forget,
That no one else can he blame,
For what he feels as guilt and shame.
And if he lost a limb or lost an eye,
Then he has good reason to sob and cry,
And if he saw his mates go down,
He has won the right to ware a frown.
But let him remember it was his choice,
The pledge he made; it was his voice,
And he always new he might go to war,
Because that was what he was serving for.
Thus I who served have no complaint,
Though a morbid picture I could paint.

~ 4 ~

But what is the point preserving woe,
Depressing people where ever you go,
Ranting and raving about the past
That you cannot change as long as you last.
What is the point reliving an event
That no longer exists, is irrelevant:
Tis still your choice to serve or deny,
Lest it serves your purpose to wail and cry.
The society you served you call untrue,
Were as faithful as me and as faithful as you,
And many have more reason to sob and cry,
Who saw their sons march of to die.
So though distraught and crippled though I am,
I still stand up proud, the best I can.