He can’t move a muscle, he can’t afford to flinch

His body refuses to enter the truck, won’t budge an inch

I took this picture of a man, as he stood still

I took a picture of a man who listened to his own will

This armored truck, was more than it seemed to be

He later explained it to me

For 5 minutes, he stood in the middle of the street

The soil of an invaded country beneath his feet

The symbol of his army in front of him

 The pain of a soldier inside of him

The memories that haunt his sleep clinging to his back

On his right shoulder sits a hooded figure gowned in black

Walking left of him, is a disfigured being unable to speak

And there he stood, with blood that’s ice and a heart that’s weak

I took this picture of a man who couldn’t move

At the end of a dark road with nothing more to lose

And yet this is a picture of a man who couldn’t move

He later told me why

With a voice cracking under the pressure of not being allowed to cry

This truck would have taken him back to hell

Where justice and honor, are nothing more than words you can’t sell

He slit throats, to defend his brothers in arms

He shot men in the chest, to ensure that the mob would remain calm

He burned houses to ensure threats wouldn’t be rebuild

He has never once heard the names of those he killed

Blood covered his face, dripped down his cheeks

Pain and rage own his voice, his conscience rarely speaks

He knows that war is easy to create for those who don’t participate

Who sit safely behind desks, and patiently wait

For news of success for those who kill for their victory

Empty praises and worthless pieces of metal are rewards for insanity

Medals of honor, medals of courage, given by men who don’t have neither one

Who have never tasted gun powder from their fingers or fired a gun

Felt bullets kiss their body as they whisked them by

Saw the grin of death as he winked at you, for you’re about to die

They have never held an innocent child as it died in your arms

They have never had to wash the blood of humans from their palms

This truck will take me back to all of that

It will place me in hell again, once again turn my sky black

Those were the words that stopped him

Those were the fears of a man trained to fear nothing

I took a picture of a man who couldn’t move

I took a picture of a man who had nothing to lose

I took a picture of a man who drowned in his past

I took a picture of a man for whom death couldn’t come too fast

This truck would take him back to memories he tried to forget

It would push him into the pool of blood, he created by the throats he slit

He would sit there, rocking back and forth, crying tears that won’t come out

He has shown me what war is, and what being a puppet to an absent master is about

This is a picture of a man who couldn’t move

This is a picture of a man with nothing to lose

This is a picture of a man, as he faces his pain

This is a picture of a man who has lost his name

Because I heard that he is afraid

He is the product of the consequences from vile promises made

Welcome to War

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Post comment