A warrior returning home from war
Will live the horror evermore
As he remakes that bloody time
In graphic images in his mind.
Relentlessly the horrors tread
Where once innocence led
To images of triumphant glory
That never told the real story.
For they crafted him a warrior fair
To kill and maim the enemy there,
They took the clay to mould him right
An Anzac warrior honed to fight.
Then sent him home a lad no more
For he had fought and seen the war
A battle wearied man returns
His soul hollowed his mind burns.
And with every living breath he takes
He sees the horror and it makes
His life a hell on earth you see
Because he cannot leave it be.
The scabs he scratches only show
The warrior fair now brought low.
No longer gun nor mates has he
No longer place, nor camaraderie.
Uncaringly they sent him home
Ill equipped to cope alone.
He has no sense of self you see
Except the warrior, they made him be.
How can he settle for second best
When God’s power was in his breast.
Who is he now, his power used?
A man is all, an ego bruised.
But give him time and give him mates
And he may one day find his place
In grace, in peace, and harmony
Where life restores tranquility.