We send the young guns off to war,
hopeful grins and proud muscles in matching greens and browns. We were not prepared for them to come back.
Not like that.
Thousand yard stares, crazy grins, waking up screaming in childhood bedrooms.
We were not prepared for them to bring pieces of the war home.
You are my son, my brother, my husband, human.
And now you are the war machine, the guardian of a country who does not even want you.