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The Wounds of War

Old soldier can you tell me,

Why you’ve lost the gentle touch?

That bloomed like desert flowers after rain,

And the dreams you dreamed so sweetly,

While they spurred your heart so much,

Seem broken now and blackened by your pain.

Forget the war they say, the past is over,

The wrongs of yesterday will slip away.

Time heals the deepest wounds, at last forever,

And your pain recedes behind another day.

But I’ll be here beside you,

When you wake up with the dawn

And I’ll hold you if the night becomes too long.

Each day I’m searching deeper,

For the one I knew so well,

When youth was ours and simple pleasures grew,

All the joys of life were sweeter,

Where hopes and dreams could dwell,

And a future free of war was calling through.

Forget the war they say, the past is over,

A world of love and peace is here to stay.

But soldiers know that peace is not forever,

And the future’s just a friend of yesterday.

But I’ll be here beside you,

When you wake up with the dawn

And I’ll hold you if the night becomes too long.

Now I see the look so haunted,

In your eyes and on your face.

As I hold your sweat-soaked body in the dawn,

And the peace of mind you’ve wanted,

Since you left that wicked place,

Now mocks you in a world of silent scorn.

Forget the war they say, the past is over,

The wrongs of yesterday fill hearts with shame.

Old soldiers now, just like a secret lover,

Are best put out to rest without a name.

But I’ll be here beside you,

When you wake up with the dawn,

And I’ll hold you if the night becomes too long.

So the questions go unheeded,

They lie etched upon your face.

As your tired eyes burn feebly in your head,

What you thought your country needed,

Somehow fills you with disgrace,

‘Til you envy those old soldiers who are dead.

Don’t talk about the war, the past is over,

And righteous hearts regret our sinful ways.

Old soldiers are a bitter sad reminder,

Of the follies of our blinded yesterdays.

But I’ll be here beside you,

When you face your final dawn,

And I’ll hold you ‘till at last the pain has gone.

 Gary Blinco, April 1998