He hides behind a new sea of camouflage
shades of green and brown colors
similar to the terrain he fights on:
it’s what he breaths now,
it consumes him
it’s his new norm.
He’s killed a man in cold-blood
and strangled another until his last breath.
He won’t let it be told
nor will he ever tell his family
or seven-year-old daughter;
he doesn’t want her dad to become the enemy.
He sits there alone in the desert,
under the stars as his camouflage colors
turn into shades of greys and blacks
for he is a man who has lost himself, behind army lines.
At home, he imagines
his daughter sitting on the window sill,
waiting for his return and running
down the front stairs and into his arms
before he can make it to the door.
The image shoots warmth through his veins
into his heart not for if
his moment will ever happen but when.
She doesn’t know it, maybe never will,
he stay alive for her
she is his hero