by Carl Martin Johnson
These are not tears running down my cheek.
I am sure it must be rain.
A sobbing man is shamefully weak,
No matter what the pain.
I am combat hardened,
Accustomed to much death.
My enemies go unpardoned.
I cut off their final breath.
But this battle is one too far.
Piles of dead and dying.
I am sick and tired of war.
It is my soul that is crying.
One day men will kill no more.
That is what I pray.
My bloody actions I abhor.
The scenes won’t go away.
Yet warrior is what I am.
I disdain to weep.
Rain, not tears, by damn.
Although my hurt is deep.
~ Carl Martin Johnson ~
Copyright © ALL Rights Reserved
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Carl Johnson’s Poetry page,
http://www.facebook.com/CarlJohnsonPoems
Carl Johnson’s War Song page,
http://www.facebook.com/WarSongCarl
Carl Martin Johnson – Website
http://www.carlmartinjohnsonpoet.com/
This first appeared in The Havok Journal on January 24, 2017.
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