the weary...

Acrid smell of sweat pervades

Doubt of mission mind invades

Tired men weary of war

Violence shakes them to the core

Faces covered, dirt and grime

What will clean them...only time

For in their form, souls are dying

Those left home for them are crying

There is no respite...no release

There is no solace for souls to feast

For in this place of no design

There is no healing of the mind

When we go home we'll find no peace

In our dreams the madness beats

In due time old wounds will fade

Though scars will mark the time we paid.

In giving up what we held dear

A year long tour of death and fear

All for a people long time lost

We'll never know just what it cost

The acrid smell of sweat pervades

Mission final...thoughts evade

Tired men weary of war

They are home now fear no more