Beckoned by open rolling plains,        
and undiscovered roads not yet traveled.
He walked away memories and pains,
of a life that had become unraveled.
His scuffed, worn boots carried him,
away from the dreams that haunted.
The dusty road, a panacea from the din,
of what he hoped for and wanted.
Memories of an insane war's horror,
emotions crippled and mind ablaze,  
Visions still embedded with sorrow.    
He walked toward better days.
Bone weary by night's darkened skies,
with a dim blanket of stars above.
The night sounds now his lullaby ,
and soft earth, his mother love.
Under a spreading oak he took shelter
exhausted, he drifted off too sleep.
The nightmares began, helter skelter
No nocturnal peace would he reap.
Scars left over from fighting long past,
that always kept him wandering.
Invisible bleeding from wounds cast,
drifting, insignificant, time squandering.
Whoever proclaimed the glory,
of fighting a war with no end.
The reminders, blood red and gory,
embedded in the souls of men.