Under the cover of time the men weeped
Their cracked hands with veins for roads
Worn by endless days and uneventful nights
Bandages so thick circulation would be cut off from their wrists
Hideous marks of honor bulge from their faces
Lest the intruder overcoming the being of each man
The intruder is none other than their fear of the guns
Of the death and fallen men
Once battles have been fought,
They  can no longer decipher if it is them or
the heaving darkness daunting them that is in control
And though the war is long over
The horrid memories shall never retreat from the men’s head
The nightmare forever imbedded in their skin
Locked in their minds
And trapped in a deafening silence
that ceases to encircle them always