Thousand Yard Stare

This may hurt a little but, it’s something we’ll both get used to.

I’m still searching your eyes for a hint or a trace of humility.

The weight of adoration is something one can never fully undo.

The title of veteran or hero was never one that I felt became me.

I am simply a man, an appellation in a vast sea of nameless faces.

A simple and lost elocution of sounds and experiences.

Uttered against the vastness of a wall of pointless endeavors and races.

And held within a citadel of broken and mended fences.

The moments I found my calling drawing me in and out of the shadow.

Until the light finally rendered me open and vulnerable, then betrayed me.

I was born into a leadership that few should endeavor follow.

Yet an ocean of blind men can’t help line up behind the one who can see.

The very violence of action and drive for excellence can be the bane of a man.

As everything beyond the burning sands of warfare can seem like futility.

How can one find themselves missing so deeply the call of foreign and torn lands?

Hands begging for the feel of the rifle and blade, mind craving perspective and acuity?

Who does the warrior become when he lays aside the tools of the trade he loves?

This clarity can only be found in moments of pure and quiet reflection I fear.

The pain and sacrifice must be released into the driving wind like doves.

One must be allowed to heal, to place family onto the mantle of those lost yet held dear.

Hoist a new sail and cast the dice into tomorrows gale.

The past can be such a crippling and remorse driven weight to bear.

Only the light of truth and the optimism of a new day will prevail.

Changing the virtue and compassion found in the thousand yard stare.

Jerry D. Howell