PTSD
The boy went on his senior trip
The destination Cong Phu Cong
The man returned home again
And all wonder what went wrong
He seemed wary of all he met
He felt confined behind each wall
Sure that the casual glance
Was a stare or fighting call
Gone are the days of youth
Age has slowed his gait
But not his cautious sense
Years away from the fear and hate
He has learned to hide the demons
To put them in their place
This weary grizzled warrior
Now exhibits a gentle face
He fights his nightly battles
His days quiet and serine
Until at last the reaper visits
And takes home another Marine