When I left to fight
I was seventeen.
When I returned
I was nineteen
I wasn't innocent anymore.

When I got back home
I was greeted with parades
I was greeted by thankful people
But I felt empty, my innocence forever lost.

I can't get the scenes out of my head
My dying friends, I can see them
Moaning for their mothers, as the shells screamed
I can still see their faces of agony.

When I walk, i limp
As a result of shrapnel
During the barrage that killed my friends
I remember that day, I lost my youth.

I saw them moaning, screaming, bleeding
I see them when I sleep
Their pained expressions, as they slowly died.
Why didn't I die too?