The Soldier that Remains

He had strong hands and nervous eyes.
Uncertain of the white women with western words.
He told his story like he had asked the same question for ten years and never found an answer.
His eyes begged me believe the bad his hands held belonged to someone else
Mouth atoned with words that fell like tears from the sea
—out of the broken pieces of unstoppable waves running from a storm
But you could see by the soul in his palms
He had repaired broken with guilty.
The memories in his deep dark dilated pupils were child,
His soul forever commemorating the child he lost.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.