An old soldier stands watch

On a haunted frontier,

On the cold plains blanketing

A grief-sick heart

–

He’s forever enshrined

With his infernal past,    

The screams of his brothers,  

Call him to arms each night

–

Watching over my shoulder

From the top of the stairs

In his pressed uniform,

Sealed inside a wooden frame

–

He has an iron expression

As he holds back the tremors

Of his young years wading,

Through blood and bullets